Recap

Relationships are unnecessary. Friends are unnecessary; well, more than one, anyway. And girlfriends are definitely unnecessary. The way most people spend their youth is horribly inefficient. I had been reminiscing about a time before I was prepared to shed everything unnecessary in order to get ahead in life. My name is Ooboshi Akiteru, and I had just finished reminiscing about the origins of the 05th Floor Alliance.

Kohinata Ozuma. He was already a genius in junior high, but the dumb rumors about him being a psycho because of his unsociable personality and weird experiments had left him a loner. His skills impressed me, though, and I knew he was just misunderstood. He was a good guy at heart, really. We got to be friends—I call him Ozu—and he carried on impressing me with his various inventions as we grew closer.

Around that same time, I got to meet his little sister, Kohinata Iroha. Her personality was the total opposite of what it is now. She knew the meaning of personal space and wouldn’t think about getting on my nerves. She was quiet, distant, and cold. And why would you expect anything else? I was her brother’s friend. She was my friend’s little sister. That was the extent of our relationship, and she had no reason to get all buddy-buddy with me.

But then, something happened that set our relationship on the path to change. Our classmate, Otoi, came out with some damning information about Iroha. Namely, that she was looking to join Otoi’s delinquent gang. There was a girl in her class, Tachibana Asagi, who was already in the group, and Iroha admired how freely she was able to live.

Ozu was already isolated enough, and it would only have got worse if his sister became a rebel. When I first decided to meddle in Iroha’s affairs, it was to help out my friend.

I had a couple of questions to answer: Why did Iroha want to rebel, and what sort of person was she anyway? My investigation led me to the Kohinata household and the oddities and problems lying within.

Their mom had banned them from consuming entertainment, and the siblings had very little freedom. Iroha wanted someone to break down those barriers for her.

It wasn’t clear whether she was aware of her own desires. Given the choice, she wouldn’t do anything to upset her mom, so she needed someone to take the lead. Maybe it was a lack of self-reliance. Who knows? But she was only in junior high, and those feelings of helplessness pushed her into behaviors that made no sense.

Iroha loved acting so much that she’d go to the park to practice playing different characters. She admired those who worked in entertainment.

Watching her and observing her talents gave me an idea, one with the potential to change both her and Ozu’s lives for the better. That was when I first had the idea to make a game together.

My trip down memory lane had strengthened my resolve. A challenge stood before me, one I’d need to overcome if I truly wanted Iroha to be free: a confrontation with my friend’s mom, Kohinata Otoha, aka Amachi Otoha.

Prologue

“You, Ooboshi Akiteru-kun, must step down as producer.”

Those words, spoken with a subtle Kyoto accent, rang in my ears.

I was in Kyoto at Tenchido Eternaland in the CEO’s office of the managerial building.

A shelf dominated the wall, stacked full of all sorts of items. It was almost like a mural of Tenchido’s awe-inspiring history. The gazes of those adorable mascots weighed on me, only for those words to slam down like a hammer. The figures cackled at me as the Demon King made her statement.

I was frozen, stunned, speechless. Tenchido’s CEO—Amachi Otoha—stared right at me all the while, her expression completely unchanging. Her eyes were fixed on me like this was some kind of test. Was she crazy?

“You’ve always been against Iroha getting involved in this kinda stuff. Why the change?”

“My hand has been forced. If I thought I could keep her away from entertainment forever, I would do it.”

“You may be her mom, but you’ve got no right to do that. You get that, don’t you?”

“Yes. I’ve also learned that I don’t have as much control over her as I thought, and that a child will keep dreaming no matter how you try to pen them in.”

“And now you’re trying to drag me down, because...?”

Did she really think I was just going to agree to her terms? She was the one who had refused to accept her daughter’s talents, while I had nurtured them. She wasn’t getting rid of me that easily.

“Do you know why I’ve been trying to prevent Iroha from entering the acting world?” Otoha-san asked.

I hesitated. Then I shook my head. If I’d known, I would’ve been done convincing her a long time ago. “No.”

“Show business is like a hell all of its own, swarming with demons. Do you know how many talented people have been subjected to subhuman treatment, all because those very talents are seen as assets to be preyed upon? It’s a world where the line between effort and pure luck is blurred—its position depends totally on who you ask—and you’re forced to follow the same mind-boggling tracks laid down by whoever went before you. People have been hurt. Killed.”

“Isn’t that the same for all competitive fields? You can find cases of that in every industry.”

Where there was light, there was shadow. I might’ve sounded like the final boss in an RPG, but you can’t tell me that doesn’t represent the world we live in. The brighter the sun at the top of the mountain, the darker the shadows, until they all melted into mud at the bottom.

The people who got tripped up by that filthy mud... Those who sometimes fell and got covered in it but continued anyway... They were the ones who would shine at the end of it all. Denying that reality left only one alternative: living peacefully in a risk-free bubble where there was neither light nor dark.

Some people were happy with that, and that was fine. Not everyone had to be a shining star. But if light was what you wanted, then you weren’t going to get anywhere without swallowing a mouthful of shadowy sludge from time to time.

Otoha-san’s sharp retort tore my counterpoint to shreds. “Yes, you’re right. But even if you’re brave enough to enter such a world, you won’t get anywhere without powerful friends and flawless preparation.”

“That’s exactly what the 05th Floor Alliance is. Stepping down’ll be the same as throwing Iroha into the demons’ den completely defenseless.”

“You’ve got it backward.” Otoha-san shook her head slowly, then continued. “I will be her producer. I’m Tenchido’s CEO. You won’t find a more powerful ally for Iroha than me.”

“What?!”

Was she for real right now? I couldn’t process what she was saying. First she kept Iroha from any and all forms of entertainment, and now she wanted to encourage her? This was a woman who didn’t believe in the talents of her own personnel and who was happy churning out creative works as though she were managing a factory. How was someone like that supposed to do anything for Iroha?

“Oh, sweetie, you’re not even trying to pretend you trust me, are you?” Otoha-san said.

“You’re only saying that because you know there’s a reason I don’t,” I replied.

“Think about it this way: a meddling high schooler versus a world-class CEO in the field of entertainment. I’d say it’s pretty obvious which of us is in a better position to protect Iroha.”

I considered it for a moment. The conclusion was obvious. My brain prized efficiency, functioning almost entirely on logic. The damn thing knew exactly which option would set Iroha on the quickest path to acting success. That was why I didn’t say anything.

“I’m going to take that silence to be your answer,” Otoha-san said.

I guess she was being merciful in her own adult way. But the lifeline that look was throwing me was still too high up to catch.

I couldn’t tell her she was wrong. I couldn’t get mad and tell her to quit treating me like I was stupid just because I was in high school. I couldn’t even rant and rave about Koyagi: When They Cry’s roaring success. I was left to accept my defeat in silence, overwhelmed by the persuasive power of Tenchido’s CEO.

Her face twisted for just a second. I didn’t know what emotions pushed her to make that expression, but I guessed it wasn’t anything positive from the sigh that came next. “You’ll never be able to protect her with such half-hearted resolve. And here I thought you might have the potential to work with me...”

I had no desire to dig through her words and figure out what she might mean.

Just then, I felt a vibration against my thigh. It was coming from my pocket. It wasn’t just the one buzz either: it kept going and going. Someone was calling me. Otoha-san immediately noticed the subtle shift in my gaze and expression. There wasn’t the slightest hint of concern in her smile as she made a gesture for me to answer.

“No, I—” I started.

“I really think you should answer it.”

For all the gentleness in her tone, there was no space for me to refuse. I didn’t like the way she was being so insistent. Panicking, I pulled out my phone. The screen read Kohinata Ozuma.

What?

Ozu, mathematical prodigy and genius engineer, valued efficiency even more than I did. He hated wasting time on long phone calls and preferred to contact me via LIME or text message. It had to be urgent if he was calling me.

“Hey. Something up?” I asked the second the line connected.

“Great, you picked up. Is Iroha with you?”

“No?” I could offer him Otoha-san instead if he was interested.

“You gotta tell him more than that, Ozuma-kun! Maybe start with how Iroha-chan’s in freaking Kyoto!”

“Shikibu— Sumire-sensei’s with you too?” I asked.

“You bet I am! It’s been ages since I last had any screen time, right?! Don’t tell me you forgot about me! ’Cause I’m right here!” Kageishi Sumire’s voice suddenly got louder. She must have taken the phone off Ozu. Not only was she our homeroom teacher, but she was the 05th Floor Alliance’s illustrator too. Her artist name was Murasaki Shikibu-sensei.

She seriously thought I was at risk of forgetting all about her? We had literally spoken that morning at the hotel. That said, it did feel like I hadn’t heard her voice in ages. Maybe because I’d spent so much of today talking about my past.

“Okay, so you’re probably wondering why Iroha-chan’s in Kyoto and I’ll tell you why, it’s because Mizuki-san had a shoot and Iroha-chan came as, like, her assistant or something, I dunno, I think it’s work experience?! But it just so happened to be in Kyoto! She ended up bumping into Otoi-san, so they were together for a bit, but then her mom showed up and I dunno what happened but she, like, ran off and now she’s missing!”

“Those are a lot of words considering you’ve barely explained anything.”

“Whaddya want from me?! I’m just telling you what I heard from Otoi-san!”

Fair enough, I guess. Otoi-san wouldn’t have been able to explain that Iroha wanted to be an actress or why she might run away from her own mother.

“We’re at Tenchido Eternaland right now. Could you help us look for her, Aki?”

“You know I wouldn’t just ignore this.”

“You’re the best! I’ll send you a LIME so you know where to meet us!” Sumire-sensei blurted out before hanging up.

I lowered my phone and looked at Otoha-san. Her expression was as difficult to read as ever.

“It must have been quite the shock for Iroha when she realized I had found out she wanted to be an actress,” she said.

“Is that what made you decide to give her a shot?”

“What, because the pain in her eyes broke my heart?” Otoha-san giggled. “Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone in the world was so sympathetic to one another?”

“I knew you weren’t driven by sympathy when you decided you couldn’t trust me to direct her.”

“I can’t let myself be swayed by just that. I think you know what Iroha needs to be told most of all right now, don’t you?”

She held a poisoned chalice in her grip. It was unfair, but Otoha-san commanded Iroha’s future now. Any attempt to argue or throw a tantrum was pointless. And here I was, a guy who loved efficiency. I already knew the quickest way for Iroha to make a name for herself.

Under the tutelage of superstar actress Tsukinomori Mizuki, plus the direction and support of exemplary manager Amachi Otoha, Kohinata Iroha’s talents would be shining for all the world to see after just a year. It would all happen without me lifting a single finger. If that was the decision that would lead to Iroha’s success, then what was I hesitating for?

“You win. But...” I looked Otoha-san in the eye. Well, glared her in the eye, I guess. Her expression was still unreadable, but it didn’t really matter. Her thoughts didn’t matter. I was here to hit her with mine and the emotion that lay beneath them. My next words were firm, fierce, and forceful. “Don’t even think about snuffing out the talent I’ve worked so hard to nurture within her.” It was an inappropriate, wildly aggressive way to speak to someone who was older, more experienced than me.

But Otoha-san’s placid smile didn’t crack. She just nodded. “I won’t break the trust you’ve given me.”

I stayed silent. The battle was over, although she had probably never seen this as any type of conflict at all. I was the only one getting competitive. Her attitude had been nothing but mature and flawless. This was what it meant to go up against someone in a different league altogether.

Goddammit...

Chapter 1: I Track Down My Friend’s Little Sister

I stepped out of the managerial building to find that the park had transformed into a magical kingdom of dreams. Yeah, I know Eternaland was already a “kingdom of dreams”—that was its entire concept—but if its magic level sat at around fifty percent during the day, you’d better believe it was cranked up to a hundred percent at night. You could hardly breathe with all the dreams in the air.

They were playing the lighthearted background music you often hear in commercials, and floats were moving past the park’s main hall. Atop those floats were Tenchido’s beloved characters playing to the crowd for all their worth: miming musical performances, dancing, and waving at the audience.

It was Tenchido Eternaland’s famous parade.

The guests had been waiting. The limiters on their excitement had been disabled, and there were those hopping about with their phones held high above their heads to record the event, while others cheered at the top of their lungs.

I distanced myself from the chaos, finding refuge at the benches by the food stalls. There were a few people waiting for me.

“You made it, Aki.”

“Sure did, Ozu.”

With him were Sumire, Otoi-san, Mizuki-san, and Mashiro. Mashiro looked beat and out of breath. She must have come running. Also, she needed more exercise.

“Don’t force yourself, Mashiro-chan,” Sumire said. “We got enough hands, so you just have a seat.”

“No,” she gasped. “Iroha-chan came looking for me when I got lost. I can’t sit this out!”

“Oui. Don’t spoil Mashiro. Not enough exercise is her fault. Now Iroha-chan is the priority. The first place,” Mizuki-san said.

“What did y’expect? I came runnin’, so it’s not like anyone else was gonna walk,” said Otoi-san, aka Otoi Reiku.

That was some logic. I couldn’t help but agree with her, though, because she was the last person who’d ever put effort into anything physical.

“Let’s split up and get searching,” I said. “I’ll have a look and see if she’s in the crowds watching the parade.”

“Thanks. I hate crowds. I’m gonna go to check the bathrooms—” Mashiro cut herself off and quickly looked away, her face stiffening.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. I mean, we should really get to it.” She shook her head rapidly, refusing to look me in the eye. Then, she turned her back on me and Otoi-san and ran off like she was trying to escape us.

Only when she was totally out of view did I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Otoi-san inexplicably staring absolute daggers at me. “Aki, y’didn’t say anythin’ to Tsukinomori, did you?”

“No. I let her in on some backstory earlier, but that’s it.”

“Oh, yeah? For your sake, I sure hope you’re tellin’ the truth.”

She didn’t look or sound all that hopeful. Why did I suddenly feel weirdly tense? As confused as I was about Mashiro’s behavior and Otoi-san’s reaction, right now I needed to focus on tracking down Iroha.

“Like I said, let’s split up and search for Iroha. Whoever finds her should message or call the rest of us, and we’ll meet back at these benches. Got it?” I asked.

“Got it!” Sumire replied.

“Okay.” Ozu.

“Oui. Understood.”

“Sure.”

We all exchanged a salute and a nod before running off in different directions.

I wove through the crowd of spectators in search of Iroha. I shoved people out of my way and— Okay, well, I didn’t go that far. I apologized to the kids whose balloons I had to gently bat to one side and did everything I could to avoid bumping into anybody.

The target had amber hair. She was just a little shorter than me. Her boobs were big and— Right, that was a little too much detail.

Anyway, I studied the faces in the crowd, my mind laser-focused on the features that made up one Kohinata Iroha. It sure hurt when people looked back at me like I was a creep...but I wasn’t about to let that stop me!

Search as I might, however, my efforts proved futile. Thinking about it, the majority of Eternaland’s customer base (families excluded) were teenage girls. Not to mention how many of them had their hair dyed light brown, making things a million times more complicated.

I clicked my tongue. Why couldn’t this be a video game, where the second I got close enough to Iroha, it’d start playing a cutscene of our reunion? Or, even if this wasn’t a big enough deal for a whole cutscene, could I at least get a marker on my map or something?

Yeah, I know, there was no point wishing for something so far removed from reality. But after so many moments of thinking I might have found her only to realize it was a total stranger, I was starting to feel on edge.

I came to a stop, feeling totally at a dead end.

“Mom, look at that Buzzamew! It’s weird!” a nearby kid said.

“Don’t point! It’s rude,” came the reply.

“But it’s really weird! Its dance is different from the rest!”

“What? Oh, you’re right. How strange.”

Both mother and child seemed just as confused as each other. I followed their gazes. Buzzamew was the poster monster of Tenchido’s long-running Uzamon series, a big hit that stood out among their impressive lineup of hits.

I hadn’t been following the more recent releases, but I’d still probably know a Buzzamew when I saw it. And yup, there it was.

It was a short, chubby, yellow cat costume. Its staticky-looking whiskers and the antenna on its head were instantly recognizable. The ugly-cute feline was flailing its short limbs about in what seemed to be panic. It was among the characters dancing on the ground rather than on a float.

The kid was right. That thing was acting weird.

The other characters’ behavior was adorably comical, something that also came across as weird from time to time. But those actions all followed the lead of the music and the vibe of the parade. I guess you’d call it calculated imperfection. Either way, it looked deliberate.

In contrast, there was no rhyme or reason to Buzzamew’s movements at all. It was very obviously trying to mimic the characters around it, meaning it was constantly one step behind and struggling to catch up. The result was an unsightly thrashing of limbs, as though it had been dumped in the middle of the parade with zero training or rehearsal. A new performer, perhaps?

Wait a sec.

But there was no way, I thought, as I stared at the thing.

Our eyes met. Buzzamew flinched slightly. A silence ensued, our gazes still locked together. It was leaning forward a little like it was trying to get a better view of my face.

The silence stretched on and on. I eventually broke it.

“Hey.” I lifted my hand in a casual greeting.

Buzzamew jumped in surprise. It turned around, placed its hands on the ground, and lifted its butt high into the air. From that crouch start, it dashed away at high speed.

I automatically chased after it. Not because it was a strange character acting even more strangely than usual—nothing as logical as that. It was purely the animalistic instinct to pursue something that was escaping.

Buzzamew completely removed itself from the rank and file of the parade, and I leaped out of the crowd to go after it. Our antics attracted the interest of some of the guests, but with the show continuing, the majority of them stayed put. I was the only one to turn my back to the lights and sprint away from them at full pelt.

My target was way more obvious now. There would be no mistaking it for someone else. With how short, stout, and wonderfully ugly Buzzamew’s silhouette was, it was impossible to lose sight of it, no matter how far away I was.

And then there were its stubby little legs trotting along under its portly frame. I ran about as fast as the average male high schooler, so as you can imagine, the distance between us was closing by the second. As soon as it entered an empty area with nothing but bushes about, I leaped at it like the hero in an action movie.

“Gotcha!”

It let out an agonized scream as its head rolled clean off its body. Which wasn’t as grotesque as it sounded, because all that was underneath the head was the person wearing the costume. And of course, that person was Kohinata Iroha.

Except it wasn’t.

“You’re not...Iroha?”

“I am Iroha!”

I recognized the voice, proof that it really was her. Relief washed over me.

You couldn’t blame me for thinking it was someone else at first. The most vivid memories I had of her featured her soft, voluminous hair, reminiscent of an emperor penguin, but the balaclava she wore now turned her head into a perfectly smooth sphere.

Of course I hadn’t realized it was her. It’d probably take me around six months to get used to it if she entered the priesthood and became a bald-headed monk.

The Iroha I remembered finally appeared when she pulled off that jet-black hood.

She gasped loudly and started wiping the dripping sweat off her face with a towel she’d stashed in the costume. “Oh my gosh, finally! I was melting in there!”

“I bet you were. What was with the balaclava? Didn’t that just make it even worse?” I asked.

“Everyone has to wear one, just in case someone spots human skin through a gap in the costume.”

“I swear, they’ve thought of everything.”

That said, I was aware the staff at theme parks came up with ingenious ways to make sure they didn’t ruin the illusion for the guests. Of course Tenchido would be a model example rather than an exception.

Wait a second. If they were so perfect and well organized, then what was this glaring contradiction?

“Why were you in a costume?” I asked.

“I know, right?!” Iroha shot back.

“Hey, stay back! That huge belly of yours is gonna send me flying!”

She clicked her tongue. “I can’t believe Buzzamew’s so chubby I can’t even give my senpai a hug! Isn’t that just about the most tragic thing you’ve ever heard?!”

She was really hamming up the tearful expression. It reminded me of that one guy with scissors instead of hands—which was a tragic tale—but I couldn’t take it seriously when the unfortunate in question was a big fat cat ’mon. It was a strong argument for why appearance mattered.

Also, how did “I know, right?!” do anything to answer my question?

“Y’see,” Iroha continued, “I was running and running and I wasn’t paying attention to where I was heading till I ended up lost behind a staff office.”

“Go on.”

“I got spotted by them as they were going in and out. They thought I was one of the part-timers, put me in a costume, and... Aha ha ha!”

“And you didn’t think to correct them at any point?”

“I’m not gonna pretend I handled it perfectly...” Buzzamew/Iroha slumped her shoulders forlornly.

She’d always struggled to advocate for herself, but even then I couldn’t believe she’d let herself end up as a character in the Eternaland parade. The thought of a college-going Iroha being roped into some weird group leading her down a super sketchy path terrified me. I’d fall out of contact with her, and then I’d eventually get sent a video via LIME that would make my soul leave my body.

“Having those dirty thoughts again, Senpai?” Iroha asked.

“I guess you would call it dirty in fiction. In real life, it’d just be kinda sad...”

“Ah!”

“No, don’t try to guess.”

Three-letter genre, first letter N. But seriously, don’t think any harder than that.

We headed for the staff room, doing our best to stay out of view of any guests. Iroha needed to change back into the clothes she’d left in the locker room there. Fortunately, the public was so engrossed by the parade that we managed to get past unnoticed. I stationed myself outside the half-open door so I could explain the situation to any returning staff members.

You might be thinking that my heart was pounding, hearing the sounds of a girl changing behind me. But it wasn’t.

There came a clonk as she placed Buzzamew’s head on the floor, and then the clumsy, bumbling sounds of a character costume. Normally, there should have been the sounds of zippers unzipping and clothes rustling—sounds sure to make it itch between any young man’s legs. Maybe because Iroha was so used to getting under my skin, she was depriving me of those sounds all on autopilot. But that’d be too much, even for her.

“Is it just me, Senpai, or should the noises I’m making right now be sexy instead of clunky?”

“C-C-Clunky’s fine!”

“Stuttering, huh? Oooh, so you were getting excited over hearing your kouhai changing! You perv!”

“I’m not excited over anything! Stop wasting time with this nonsense and get changed.”

“I’m buck naked right now, y’know.”

I nearly choked on my own spit. “Don’t care! I’m not turning around!”

“I’ve got my back to the door, so you could peek and I wouldn’t even notice.”

“I didn’t ask for some kind of demonic trial!”

“It’s a trial, huh? So you’re struggling against the temptation of seeing me naked? Well, sounds to me like you’re bursting with curiosity, Senpai!” She was grinning. I couldn’t see it, but it was clear as day in my mind’s eye. “Y’know, I’ll let you look if you want!”

“I know the punch line already.” I sighed. “It’s not funny anymore. Now get on with it before someone shows up.”

“What, you think I’m joking? You know how cut up I am over this stuff with mom? I need a whole lot of comforting, and you’re right here, Senpai...” Her tone had just a tinge of heartache to it, like she was recording a binaural ASMR. I could even pinpoint her position in the room.

Wait, were those footsteps? She was getting closer. Her voice, her presence, her scent. It was all gradually closing in on me.

Slow the hell down, you hear me, heart?!

I couldn’t think of a worse time to be going nuts over a potentially amorous situation. Right, time to focus on the important stuff. Which was... Which was...

“Otoha-san said yes,” I said.

“Huh?” The approaching voice stopped in its tracks.

Giving myself time to breathe a sigh of relief, I continued. “I just spoke to her. She said you could carry on toward becoming an actress and that she’d support you. She gave me her word.”

“Wait, are you telling the truth? But she looked so upset before...”

“I explained everything to her in full, and she finally got it. She knows now just how serious you are about achieving your dream. I told her I’d never let you give up on it, no matter how much she tried to suppress you.”

I was lying through my teeth. Otoha-san had known exactly how she wanted things to play out the moment she had invited me into her office. I was just the NPC who happened to be there when she finalized her decision.

That wasn’t to say I was completely powerless to help Iroha, but the resolve I had gathered at the time had too much gravity for me to be open about it with her right now. I just knew I’d end up disguising it under some lame joke or exaggeration.

“You really mean it, Senpai?” Iroha asked, her voice thick with emotion. And then, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“What the heck are you doing?! Put some clothes on, you idiot!”

She was pressed up against me. Zero warning!

She’d thrust open the door with all her strength, wailing so loudly that every single member of her ASMR audience would rightly complain about burst eardrums. I could feel them against my back too, soft and squishy and warm and... Wait.

“You are wearing clothes!” I cried.

“Duh! I wouldn’t hug you otherwise!”

What a shame. I mean, what an obvious oversight on my part. Right.

When I turned around, there was neither a Buzzamew nor a naked girl, but a perfectly and modestly dressed Iroha.

I cursed her internally. She’d been dressed for ages. She only said she was naked to bully me!

“You do mean it, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah. Any moron could see that you’re fully dressed, despite what you tried to have me believe!”

“Not that! I mean about mom accepting me.”

Oh, yeah. The actual important thing.

“Why would I lie about that? You could prove me wrong right away by just asking her.”

Iroha giggled. “You’re so right! Still, Senpai, you’re really something. I mean, she’s gotta be the toughest person to persuade ever.”

“Yeah...”

The part about me not lying? Also a lie.

I was crafty. I knew how to make my lies slide past undetected. Otoha-san had accepted her daughter’s ambition. That bit was true. But I was purposely concealing the price I’d paid to get that outcome.

“Mom’s not gonna fight me anymore... She’s gonna support me...” Iroha wouldn’t stop laughing.

Her smile pierced through my very soul. Would she still be smiling if I had told her I was handing over the right to manage her to Otoha-san? Would her face fall? Or would that fact not bother her in the least? I wondered how conflicted I’d feel if that ended up being the case.

The answer was probably “very.”

The self-loathing threatened to crush me. Iroha was about to set foot toward a bright future, and I could see myself feeling conflicted about it. I couldn’t bear it. It was wrong for me to feel that way, even for a second, and it made me want to pull my brain out of my skull and toss it far, far away.

That was why I couldn’t tell her the whole truth. The possibility she might not mind being under Otoha-san filled me with fear.

“That’s right,” I said. “You don’t have to lie to yourself anymore.”

I heard fireworks in the distance. The climax at the end of the parade. The audience’s cheers and the colorful bursts of illumination reached us all the way out here. It was perfect timing as far as I was concerned.

The lights would cast any guilt that was written on my face to shadow.

“You can chase after that dream of yours openly now. I know you’ve got what it takes, Iroha.”

“Thanks, Senpai!”

***

“On your knees, Iroha-chan. You too, Aki.”

“Yes’m,” we replied in unison.

We were in a corner of Tenchido Eternaland’s parking lot. I had just brought Iroha back here, and now Mashiro stood before us imposingly with her arms folded. You could still just about call her adorable, but her low tone of voice told of her intense rage.

The concrete was freezing. I was pretty sure this’d be considered a form of torture, considering I’d already been running about looking for Iroha, so I tried glaring at my cousin.

Her eyes responded with nothing but a blistering cold that dared me to question her, so I did as I was told and stayed on my knees.

Mashiro wasn’t the only one here. The rest of Iroha’s search party—Ozu, Sumire-sensei, Otoi-san, and Mizuki-san—had also gathered. They stood around Iroha and me as we kneeled, and it felt like a medieval execution. In fact, it felt like we were about to be... Well, I didn’t even want to say it.

“Can you guess why I’m so mad, Iroha-chan?” Mashiro asked.

“Uh...”

“I really wish I weren’t this mad, you know. It hurts to be so angry.”

“I’m sorry!” Iroha stammered. “I didn’t think, and I made everyone worry about me...”

“That’s not it.”

“Huh?” Iroha and I blinked at the exact same time. What was wrong with her answer? It seemed to me to be a perfect bull’s-eye.

“Forget about making us worry. This is about something way more important,” Mashiro said. She straightened up even further, stuck her chest out, and scowled at us like a teacher scolding a pair of flunking students. “Iroha-chan’s backstory just overshadowed everything.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Iroha said.

Same, to be honest.

Mashiro’s face reddened as if she suddenly realized the incoherence of her words. She cleared her throat to cover her embarrassment. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Uh-huh.”

“Right. I dunno what that was about, but thanks,” Iroha replied.

The moment Mashiro was done, Sumire-sensei jumped in from the side and flung her arms around Iroha. “D’you know how worried I was?! You can’t just disappear on us when we’re away from home! You leave that to me; I’m the one with deadlines to run from!”

Hold up. You should meet deadlines, not run from them.

“I guess I worried you too, Sumire-chan-sensei, and you’re not even my teacher. I’m sorry,” Iroha said.

“I’m just so...so glad you’re okay!” Sumire-sensei kneeled on the ground next to her, showing no concern for getting her stockings dirty as she hugged the girl as tightly as anything.

There was a lot I could say about her attitude toward deadlines, but the depth of kindness on display made it clear why she was a teacher.

“What were y’thinkin’, Kohinata? Y’caused us a whole lotta trouble there.” This time, it was Otoi-san who stood in front of her. “D’you know how many calories it took lookin’ for you?”

“You too, Otoi-san,” Iroha sniffled. “I’m sorry!”

“Answer’s two thousand.”

“How do you know?!”

“I’ll need two thousand calories’ worth of candy to balance things out. Lookin’ forward to the apology sweets when we get back home, Aki.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who ran off!” I cried. It made zero sense for me to get caught in the cross fire here.

“You’re her guardian, right? ’N’ you’re kneelin’, so that means you’re ready to take responsibility.”

“What? No, this is the fault of whoever unfairly told me to kneel.”

“Quit nitpickin’. You’re takin’ the fall with her.”

Again, the question was why I should have to, but I guess that would just count as more nitpicking.

A pale figure tottered in from behind Otoi-san then: Mizuki-san.

“Hmm...” She wore an awkward expression on her face, and the eyes behind her long bangs were wandering around instead of looking down at Iroha. She fidgeted, wriggled, and squirmed for a while before flinging herself to her knees. “Pardonne me! I errored. I did something badly.”

“Mizuki-san?!” Iroha’s eyes went wide...

“Mom’s...bowing?” Mashiro gasped.

Mizuki-san’s actions surprised everyone there, though we all reacted to different degrees. It was a perfect prostration, her knees on the cold asphalt just like ours and her forehead pressed to the ground without a care that her gorgeous silver hair might get dirt in it.

If a teacher of etiquette had been watching, Mizuki-san would have got ten out of ten. The pose was exemplary of Japanese culture, wabisabi, and a harmonious spirit.

“I took Iroha-chan arbitrarily away, and forced a duel with Amachi-san. It was a tall possibility that her heart would break because it’s her child’s future. I decided. But I didn’t think this happens. I hurt you, Iroha-chan. This is my apology. Death penalty. Do I need to seppuku?”

“No, you really don’t! You don’t even have to bow!” Iroha cried.

“But...”

Iroha shuffled over on her knees so she was next to Mizuki-san. She put a hand on the woman’s silver head and patted it soothingly. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Mizuki-san! You did what you thought was best for me, and I can’t be mad at you for that. I’m grateful! I ran off ’cause I’m a coward!”

She paused. “Besides, mom’s accepted me! It would never have happened if you didn’t give me this opportunity. Thank you... Thank you so much!”

“What? She accepted you?” Mizuki-san looked up and shot a confused glance in my direction.

I averted my gaze immediately, even though I knew she was probably perceptive enough to guess that something was up. I didn’t care if I looked desperate. I just needed to get through this encounter without anyone finding out the truth.

Anyway, Iroha was back safe and sound. She and Mizuki-san returned to their hotel while the rest of us followed Sumire-sensei to ours.

We were in the taxi on the way back when Ozu finally said—or mumbled—something. “Were you lying?”

“About what?”

“It’s serious, then, if that’s your reaction. If it weren’t, you’d be all ‘Where’d that come from?!’ or ‘Wow, Ozu...you read my mind!’”

“You could still stand to hit a little less close to home, y’know,” I replied.

“I’m just worried,” he said. “You must’ve done something extreme to convince mom.”

“Maybe I did.”

The girls had gone in one taxi and we were in another, so it was just me, Ozu, and the driver. He hadn’t brought this up until we were away from the others, which I took as extremely considerate from him.

It looked like all his training in romantic visual novels had gotten him to the intermediate stage of mastering communication. My best friend was being as thoughtful as he could. Responding to him with a dash of good faith was the least I could do.

“You don’t have to worry. I’d never do anything to disadvantage you or the rest of the Alliance.”

“It sounds like you did do something extreme,” Ozu said.

“You guys might panic, but just for a while. When you do, would you let everyone know that it’s all gonna work out?”

“Why don’t you tell them?”

“I might not be able to,” I said.

“Your communication skills suck, then. You should see if there’re any games you could play to brush up on them.”

“You’re not wrong, though I think it’s more that I’m lacking courage.”

I was confident my ideas and actions would end up putting everyone in a better place, but I wasn’t confident it’d come across that way. They might try to argue with me, feel hurt, or in some cases, cry.

When I considered the possibility of putting them through that, I found I couldn’t share my thoughts, despite how much confidence I had.

“Meh. I’ll follow whatever path you lead us down, Aki,” Ozu said.

“Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

He trusted and supported me without having to know every last detail, and I was as grateful as ever for his irreplaceable friendship. He was one in a million, and that was why I offered him a silent apology.

Sorry, Ozu. You’re gonna have to shoulder quite the heavy burden for a while.

My plan for the foreseeable future went further than relying on Otoha-san to manage Iroha. I was making a more extreme choice than that, one that might make people think I was betraying the 05th Floor Alliance.

If the other members found out ahead of time what I was planning, they might start keeping a real eye on my movements and stop me before I could go through with it. That was why I couldn’t even fill Ozu in on the details.

I gazed out through the taxi window. Kyoto’s night rushed past at a dizzying pace, its features blurring together just like the flow of life. Despite the guilt I felt toward Iroha and Mashiro, I didn’t look back. I kept my mind locked firmly on what lay ahead.

This isn’t going to end how you want it to, Otoha-san. Or should I say Amachi-san? If you think you’ve got everything and everyone dancing in the palm of your hand, you’re sorely mistaken.

***

“Hey, Aki, are you tryin’ to massively push the plot forward or something?”

“All I can say is that I’m counting on you, Ozu.”

“Say what?!”

Chapter 2: My Brother Loses a Friend

The class trip lasted forever (felt like it, anyway) and ended in a whole mess (that was all my fault).

Hi, Kohinata Iroha here. And I’m sorry.

I was so exhausted after coming back from Kyoto that I was out like a light! By which I mean I slept like a log. I had zero energy left to bug my beloved Senpai, and I think I was also drained from the happiness of mom finally accepting my dream of becoming an actress.

I woke up in the morning with a start. The ceiling above was comforting and familiar. Ditto the spongy mattress underneath. Aaand the same went for Tomaty-kun, who I was squeezing against my chest so tight his stuffing was getting all twisted. This was home all right.

I’d had such a relaxing sleep that my HP and MP were both fully charged. I jumped out of bed like a gymnast, sticking a perfect landing.

Wonder what rude awakening I should give Senpai this morning! I was heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day when there came a noise from the kitchen. I guess that’s Ozuma?

It didn’t feel right, though, because the noises were kinda metallic. Like kitchenware and cooking utensils were being shifted around. Ozuma’s breakfasts consisted of processed foods with added nutrients, supplements, nutritional jelly drinks, or CalorieMates. He never cooked for himself.

Curious, I opened the living room door and peeked into the kitchen.

“Mom?!”

“Oh, Iroha-chan! Good morning!” she sang back.

Mom, Kohinata Otoha, Amachi Otoha. She had a few names, a few hats. She was the coolheaded CEO of a super-huge entertainment company, known to every single person in this country.

You wouldn’t think it right now, because she was standing there in an apron and frying up veggies. The metallic sounds came from her metal cooking chopsticks colliding with the frying pan.

“When did you get back?” I asked.

“I haven’t been back long at all, sweetie! I got all fired up when I decided to cook breakfast for you this morning.”

“Right...” I glanced at the fragrant, sizzling vegetables as I opened the fridge and pulled out some barley tea. I was crazy thirsty. It was probably the nerves and shock from seeing mom at home.

I filled a cup and took a sip as I shot her a glance. She looked the same as always. As tender and kind as usual. She hummed while making breakfast for Ozuma and me.

But I knew what had happened in Kyoto was no dream. Things would only get more awkward if I stayed quiet, so I gathered my courage and spoke.

“Um, Mom? I’m sorry for running away like that in Kyoto...”

“But you’re not sorry for trying to get into acting behind my back?”

I hesitated, gathered a little more courage, and shook my head. “No.”

I didn’t feel like it was something to apologize for, and I was sure it was Senpai’s consistent confidence that helped him convince mom to support me. I also wanted to be confident and hold my head high.

“Tee hee! It looks like you’ve really grown up while I wasn’t looking too,” mom said.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m sure Ooboshi-kun must have told you. I think the time for anger has passed, don’t you?”

That reassured me, along with her sweet smile. All I’d had before was Senpai’s word; I didn’t know if she’d actually agreed to support me. But her gentle expression told me he hadn’t been lying.

It did make me wonder why she’d been so stubborn about keeping me away from entertainment up till now. I didn’t feel like asking, though. Mom was finally smiling, and I didn’t want to say anything that would make her mood plummet.

“Don’t worry that cute little head of yours, Iroha-chan. The world of show business may be a crawling pit of demons, but I promise to stop them eating you alive.”

“Huh? O-Oh, uh...thanks. Wait, are you sure?” It took me a moment to process her words.

Was she planning to help me become an actress? Her recommendation as president of Tenchido would hold a huge amount of sway, so maybe she was going to use it for me?

Honestly, I didn’t really like the idea of using that connection to make a name for myself. But Senpai would use anything he could, and I was his favorite kouhai, which meant I should take a page from my dear director’s book and seize the opportunity with a wink and a smile, right?

I was still toying with the idea when mom gasped.

“Oh, that’s right! I brought back some yatsuhashi from Kyoto! They’re on the table. Help yourself, honey!”

“I was there too. You didn’t have to bring anything back!” I said.

“Oh, it was nothing! Yatsuhashi are delicious, aren’t they? You can keep eating them without their sweetness getting overpowering.”

“I mean, that’s true, but...”

She sounded like she’d stocked up on toothpaste instead of confectionery. It wasn’t like going to Kyoto automatically meant you had stuffed yourself with the mochi triangles, though. And after all, happiness was knowing the cupboards were stacked with sweets.

I wasn’t a total sugar addict like Otoi-san, but I was happy to snack on candy as much as any other girl!

I approached the fancy box on the table, opened it, and popped one of Kyoto’s most traditional souvenirs into my mouth. It was deliciously sweet! The kind of tasty you just want to share with the whole family. So I took another one and headed for Ozuma’s room.

The door was closed. He hadn’t left it open in years. But Senpai’s hard work had torn down the wall between Ozuma and me, so I felt totally fine to knock.

“Hey, Ozuma! You want a yatsuhashi?”

I heard a series of mechanic clunks from the other side of the door. He was probably tinkering with a self-built PC or a robot or something. He sure was working hard for this time of the morning.

His reply took a few seconds. “No, thanks. Go give some to Aki.”

“What about breakfast? Mom’s making us something.”

“I’ll eat it later. She can put it on a plate and wrap it.”

“Roger that!”

It was pretty much what I’d expected. That was just how Ozuma was. He wasn’t at all interested in candy or fruity soft drinks and always turned them down whenever I offered.

I was used to it, so it didn’t make me mad. Of course, I didn’t throw a tantrum and refuse to ask ever again either. I still offered politely each and every time. He was my precious brother, after all. And one day, he might actually say yes.

But he was right; I should go give some to Senpai. You’re so smart, Ozuma!

He’d just come back from Kyoto himself, so there was no way he’d need any yatsuhashi. But if I showed up at his door with a whole bunch of them, it wasn’t like he’d have a reason to refuse, because I was offering them to him. In terms of ways to get on his nerves, it struck a perfect balance.

See ya real soon, Senpai! I giggled to myself. His class trip was officially over, and we were back to our usual programming of pure mischief!

But first, I needed to eat breakfast with mom. There was something important I had to talk to her about.

“My, where is Ozuma-kun?” mom asked when I returned to the kitchen.

“He wanted you to wrap it up for him. Said he’d eat it later.”

“Oh dear. I was hoping to have a lovely long catch-up with him. Where does he get his aloofness from?”

From you, mom.

“Never mind! It’s nice to spend some time with my sweetiepie daughter without anyone else butting in too!”

“Yeah,” I stammered. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

Though her singsong tone was making me wince, I sat down at the table to eat breakfast with her. Rice, miso soup, and stir-fried vegetables. The most basic staples of home cooking. The most orthodox, righteous meal you could ever eat.

I wondered if I was about to get a mouthful of nostalgia as I took a crispy piece of veg between my chopsticks. Just like momma used to make, and all that.

“How is it, sweetie?” mom asked. “I haven’t cooked for you in a long time.”

I chomped for a bit and paused. “It...”

“Oh, did I mess up? Oh dear, oh dear, whatever shall I do?”

“It tastes the exact same as always!” I exclaimed.

She blinked. “Then why the long buildup?”

“Y’know, I just realized I’ve always seasoned my cooking the exact way you taught me to, mom,” I said.

“No...” she whispered. “But that means you don’t need me anymore... Oh, is this what it means for your beloved daughter to fly the nest? Waaah!”

“Wait, mom, saying ‘waaah’ doesn’t actually make it sound like you’re crying. Besides, I’m saying your food is good!”

She shot me a calculated glance through the gaps in the fingers covering her face. “Really?”

I nodded, rapid movements up and down, only for her to raise her head and launch herself at me.

“Oh, Iroha-chan, I wuv you so much! You’re so precious!”

“Gaaaaaah! Quit nuzzling and head patting and clinging to me all at the same time!”

It was her knockout babying move. And it was my weakness!

Mom took her time getting her fill of smothering me. She realized partway with a start that neither of us was able to eat our food and let go, but it was too late. The damage to my psyche was already done.

Mom cleared her throat twice (“Ahem, ahem.”) and straightened up. Her face took on a serious expression (which was too little too late) as she took out a thick black marker from who-knows-where and tapped the whiteboard that was set up beside the dinner table.

“Let’s stop playing about and start discussing your next moves,” she said.

“My next moves? You mean with my acting stuff?”

“That’s exactly what I mean!”

“Mom... Thank you. Thank you so much!”

I knew she was probably struggling to do this on the inside. But now she was pushing that resistance deep down and accepting the path I’d chosen. The realization made me feel grateful to her all over again, as well as a teensy bit guilty. But I hadn’t prepared myself for what she said next.

“I’ve already worked out a plan for you! You can still continue your work on Koyagi, but I think we should actively seek out some opportunities for you beyond that.”

“A plan?”

“Ooboshi-kun mentioned Koyagi’s recordings can be flexible, so the first thing I’ve done is put together your lesson schedule. I’m going to ask a sound director I know to coach you on voice acting. Mizuki-san has already agreed to take you on as her pupil when it comes to acting in general, hasn’t she? I’ll talk to her and arrange for you to see the teacher who trained her. We’ll have to think of a stage name for you too, because I want you to have an explosive debut next year. And—”

“W-W-Wait just one second!”

“Oh? Is something the matter?”

“I’m totally confused!” I cried. “What exactly are you trying to do right now, mom?”

“I’m arranging your schedule, Iroha-chan.”

“Yeah, I got that much, but why are you suddenly acting like you’re my manager?”

“I don’t understand. Didn’t Ooboshi-kun tell you?” She frowned at me, tangling my thoughts together even tighter.

It felt like we were on two massively different wavelengths, and... Wait a second.

“Oh, I see,” mom murmured to herself before addressing me again. “Ooboshi-kun turned his duties as your manager over to me. I asked him to do it in exchange for accepting your ambitions to enter show business.”

“Senpai’s...quit?”

That was a joke, right? Senpai never even mentioned anything like that.

“But don’t worry! I run Tenchido, remember? I’m going to make you a superstar, so just you wait and see!”

“Um...”

She was talking like it was already a done deal, and it was making things way worse! What was I supposed to say? I seriously had no clue. I couldn’t even string two words together. There was no way that Senpai would ever— Or maybe there was. Actually, it might have been exactly what Senpai would do, if he thought it was the most efficient option.

Tenchido was a successful and internationally famous entertainment company. Its CEO wouldn’t have made it to where she was without significant talent and influence, and having someone who knew the ins and outs of the industry like her managing me might have been the quickest way to achieving my dream. Maybe Senpai saw it as the perfect opportunity and jumped at it, because not only did it expedite my debut, but it came with the bonus of mom’s recognition.

But even though I could figure that much out, it was all so sudden I didn’t know how to feel. Was Senpai really okay with this? We’d been working hard together all this time. I’d always thought we’d keep on working together. He had even promised he wouldn’t abandon me.

Obviously I wasn’t about to say setting me up for success was the same as abandoning me, but still. He could have at least told me this was going to happen.

And then there was mom. She’d always been against me getting anywhere near the entertainment industry. Why had she suddenly stopped resisting? I mean, she was actively encouraging me now.

It was like walking on unsteady ground with a heavy ball of sludge deep within my heart, and the ball was only growing.

Mom seemed to notice my confusion. She put a hand to her cheek, and her brows furrowed in a pained expression. “You don’t want me to manage you?”

“It’s not that!” I said in a panic. I didn’t want to upset her. It was just that this had all come out of left field. I didn’t know if I could get that across to her or not, but I launched into an explanation anyway. “This is something I’ve always done with Senpai...so I’m struggling to process it all when he’s not the one telling me about this.”

“Aww, that’s completely understandable.”

“Do you mind if I go talk to him? I think I’ll be able to commit to working with you properly after that.”

“Go ahead. You chat for as long as it takes for it to all sink in,” mom said with a nod. Those words didn’t come from the side of her that endlessly doted on me.

Right now, she was wearing the mask of a responsible adult: Tenchido’s CEO. It was probably the first time she’d ever worn it when dealing with me, and while it made me kinda nervous, I was also a little thrilled she was treating me as mature and an equal instead of a kid.

That was why I acted like an adult in return, looking the CEO right in the eye and nodding. “Right. I’ll be back later.”

***

“Senpai! Senpai, Senpai, Senpai! Wanna explain yourself, huh?! Y’know, once I’m president, this kinda thing is gonna be worth ten guilty verdicts and be punishable by immediate death!”

I had grabbed Senpai’s spare key from Ozuma’s room. This was a no-holds-barred invasion. I thrust his door open with enough force to smash it to pieces, then stomped loudly in the direction of his bedroom. He still didn’t say anything, even when I put my hand on the doorknob. Maybe he was still asleep or maybe he was on his computer.

I was madder than I’d ever been. I wasn’t about to show him any mercy even if he was fast asleep. Determined, I tightened my grip on the doorknob. Which was when I heard a sound from the living room.

So that’s where you are.

“Senpai! Say something if you can hear me! As leader of the nation that is this apartment building’s fifth floor, you owe your people an explanation. It’s not a dictatorship, y’know!”

That was Kohinata Iroha-chan, the gorgeous, intelligent schoolgirl who’s also got her finger on the pulse of politics! Thank you, thank you! When the time comes for me to run and you stand before that ballot box, I humbly ask that you cast a vote for chaos.

Wait, what am I talking about? I guess all the anger and confusion I was feeling toward Senpai fried my brain and made my thoughts run off in a crazy direction!

Either way, I needed to pin him down and subject him to an interrogation in the name of the law!

I pushed open the living room door with a bang and stormed straight in there.

“Oh, hey, Kohinata. Sup?”

“Whuh?”

It wasn’t Senpai. The rug was pulled from beneath me, and I was left staring like an idiot. I could only imagine how dumb my face looked right then. It was Otoi-san, a key figure who supported the 05th Floor Alliance from the shadows.

Also, she was butt naked.

White steam was coming off her skin like she’d just gotten out of the shower. She was drying her hair off with a towel and standing in the middle of the room holding a coffee milk like she didn’t have a care in the world.

I didn’t get how she could be so relaxed. Did she think this was a bathhouse locker room and not someone’s home? It wasn’t just me, right? It was absurd to be treating this place like her own home, yeah?

By the way, anyone who accuses me of hypocrisy is gonna get arrested for treason. That’s just how the law is in Irohaland.

“What are you doing here, Otoi-san?! A-And why are you naked?! Put some clothes on already!”

Otoi-san laughed dryly. “What’re y’panickin’ for? We’re both girls. Doesn’t matter what y’see.”

“It matters to me! I don’t want to see anything!”

That said, the second I realized she was naked, I’d squeezed my eyes shut and turned my face away, so I really wasn’t seeing anything right now. Even if she had just gotten out of the shower, was that any reason to swan around without any clothes on? Have some decency, please!

Wait.

Wait. That wasn’t even the issue here! Why was she even bathing at Senpai’s place? And her behavior meant she didn’t care if he saw her naked, right?! Plus, she’d showered in the morning instead of the evening, meaning something out of the ordinary had happened that she needed to clean up after... Did she have too much fun last night?! What the heck was going on?!

“Senpai! I dunno where you are, but get out here and explain yourself! Is this the aftermath?! This is the morning after, isn’t it?!” I yelled, charging right back into his bedroom.

I stripped the bundle of covers right off the bed—screw him if he was still sleeping—and went to grab his shoulders and shake him awake. Except I realized there weren’t any shoulders to grab. My fingers curled around empty air. The bed was empty, and there wasn’t a trace of Senpai in it.

One mystery after another. Was this a message from above? There were a lot of female protagonists working as detectives these days, so maybe I was being told to put my impressive intelligence to good use and apply some awesome powers of deduction. Well, challenge accepted!

Hnnngh... What’s the explanation for this situation... Grrrngh... I got it!

“It’s a classic pump and dump! That scandalous scumbag Senpai!”

“Isn’t that the kinda thing Kageishi’s s’posed to come out with?”

Otoi-san had stepped in behind me. She was now wearing clothes and holding a Suckie in her mouth. She probably saw that lollipop stick as part of her image.

“I’m not gonna take your precious Senpai from ya, so don’t sweat it.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” I grumbled.

“Y’don’t gotta pretend with me. I mean, you’ve seen me naked.”

“Not by choice!”

Otoi-san laughed. “Usually Aki’s the one playin’ the straight man and you’re goofin’ around, but I guess ya gotta take his role when he ain’t here. ’Sfunny.”

“Hnnngh!”

She was enjoying this! I was the type to want to bully people I was close to, but I never felt like being mean to Otoi-san no matter how much our friendship developed. As much as I hated to admit it, it was an instinctual reminder she was worthy of my respect.

I pouted. “So where is Senpai, then?”

Otoi-san burst my sulky bubble with a single soft poke. “He’s gone.”

“Huh? Whaddya mean, ‘gone’?”

“I mean ‘gone.’ Said on LIME he was gonna be away for a while.”

“Huh? No? Buh? Whaaaaaat?!”

I was making zero sense of this nonsensical situation. Had Senpai gone missing? Had he stolen away in the night? Why? How come? Por qué? Had he run away because he used too much money on developing our game and he was actually in a ton of debt and now he was totally broke and in major trouble?!

But wait, this was Senpai we were talking about. He was the last guy to do something so scummy.

“Said he wasn’t gonna be contactin’ ’nyone in the Alliance for a bit. That he wanted me to take over development for Koyagi’s console version in the meantime. Tenchido’s Amachi-san’s takin’ over as your producer too, right?”

“Right, mom started saying the same thing, so I came over here to check with Senpai. I never thought he’d have totally vanished!”

“He said he couldn’t go into detail, but he was gonna hafta step down as producer temporarily. He’d let me know anythin’ major ’bout the direction of the project over LIME, but otherwise managin’ the team ’n’ gettin’ ’em to do their work is my job. Yeesh, dunno if I can be bothered.”

The part about him having to step down set off alarm whistles in my head. Could it be he’d struck some kind of deal with mom and this was his part of the bargain? The timing lined up all too perfectly.

He may not have said anything to me, but my stubborn mom had changed her mind. It would’ve taken some real negotiating. Whatever ridiculous condition she had forced Senpai to agree to was beyond my imagination.

“I’m surprised you said yes, Otoi-san,” I said. “It sounds like a lotta work.”

“Usually woulda said no.”

“Right? Senpai must’ve poured his heart out to you.”

Otoi-san shook her head. “Nah. He promised me a shipment of sweets from this super famous confectioner pretty much every day.”

“You’re way too easily swayed!”

I couldn’t believe sweets were enough to bribe her to do something so huge either. Otoi-san looked to me like the type of girl whose heart was crazy difficult to capture, but maybe it was the opposite...

“Anyhoo, that’s why I’m here.”

“Uh-huh. Wait, that really doesn’t explain why you’re hanging around Senpai’s place!”

“’Cause this is where the Alliance’s leader lives, ’n’ that’s me now.”

“Is that how it works? I’m pretty sure this is Senpai’s home before it’s the Alliance HQ.”

“Quit nitpickin’,” Otoi-san said, lax as ever.

Surely it wasn’t nitpicking when it was actually a big deal? And this was definitely weird, right? That was what the rational side of my brain was telling me. But right now I was standing in a magnetic field where common sense was as watertight as fluff, and it was making me dizzy.

Anyway, the first thing to do was to get my act together and double-check everything with Senpai. We could figure everything else out from there. I pulled out my phone and pressed the call button on LIME.

Ring, ring, ring-a-ling. Ring, ring, ring-a-ling. Everyone on earth knows what the LIME call tone sounds like. It played over and over, and it didn’t sound like he was going to pick up.

“Why is he ignoring me?! I hate you, Senpai!” I sent him a whole bunch of stickers with various grumpy and angry faces. They weren’t even marked as read.

“He said he was gonna be away, remember? You’re not gonna get in contact with him that easily,” Otoi-san said.

“Yeah, I know, but— Wait! What about you, Otoi-san?”

“Whaddabout me?”

“You can get in contact with him, right? He may have left you in charge, but he’s still making all the decisions! Which means he’s planning to check in with you regularly! He’s not gonna ignore a call from your phone!”

“Don’t think that’s gonna work.”

“Lemme see your phone!” I snatched the device from her, opened up LIME, and went to her chat with Senpai, which was at the top of her list.

Phone me right NOW or else! I typed.

It didn’t get marked as read.

“Why?!”

“Said it wasn’t gonna work,” Otoi-san said. “Feels like he won’t talk to me either, ’nless it’s important.”

I groaned. “What, so I’m outta options? And he’s just vanished into thin air without even saying goodbye, like he’s the actual scum of the Earth?”

“You’re overreactin’. ’Snot like he’s dead or anythin’. ’Smore like a study abroad type deal.”

“Which is a huge deal! It’s always a plot point near the end of any romcom series if you go back a bit!”

“Great, but this is real life. ’N’ here comes another pain...” Otoi-san’s gaze shifted to a spot behind me. I heard crashing as the front door was pushed open and slammed shut, then a flurry of angry footsteps.

“Are you okay, Aki?! I messaged you but then it didn’t come up as read so I got worried and sent twenty more messages and tried to call you but you didn’t reply and I don’t get why wait is it because you found out I was Makigai Namako and now you’re disillusioned and grossed out so you’re avoiding me but I don’t think you’d do that so wait has he died in his room that can’t be it he’s gotta be alive, right?!”

“Take a deep breath, Mashiro-senpai! Remember to breathe when you speak too!”

It was Mashiro-senpai who had burst into Senpai’s apartment. The pale skin that normally made her face so attractive now looked unhealthy, and she hadn’t put enough product in her lovely hair because it was all over the place. It was obvious she’d come here just as panicked as I was.

“Watch where you’re steppin’, Tsukinomori.” Otoi-san pointed at Mashiro-senpai’s feet.

“Huh?” She looked down.

I followed her gaze. There was a piece of white cloth under her foot. She moved off it, picked it up, and held it in front of her face. They were panties.

“P-P-P-P-P-P...”

“Oh, I took those off here yesterday. Guess I forgot to put ’em in the wash.”

“Y-Y-You took your underwear off in...A-A-Aki’s room?!” Mashiro-senpai’s mouth opened and closed like she was running out of air. But then she took a deep breath, which seemed to help. “He invited his mistress into his room... That’s gross. Pig. Moron. I hope he dies in a fire!”

“Now you’re soundin’ like Kageishi too.”

Nice callback, Otoi-san. Even if I’m half of the joke.

***

“I can’t believe we’ve entered Aki’s disappearance arc. He’s not even in this section anymore.”

“Yup! You got me, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei (or Kageishi Sumire) picking up the slack! I’m the Alliance’s only adult, too, so it’s up to me to step in now our leader’s gone missing outta the blue. Heh! Keep your expectations high, people!”

“Knowing you, it’s probably only a matter of time before you vanish too.”

“Waaah! I’ve been sticking to all my deadlines recently!”

“Lying is wrong. I’ve got the data right here, and— Huh? You’re tellin’ the truth...”

“I sure am! I’ve developed way past missing every deadline!”

“Oh, that’s why... Okay, that makes sense now.”

“Huh?”

“It’s out of character for you to keep to your deadlines. That means you’re losing your identity. You haven’t had much screen time lately because you’ve managed to be so organized. Yup, that explains it.”

“What kinda logic is that?! W-Wait, am I not supposed to be sticking to them?!”

“No, please carry on as you are. It just means you won’t feature as much from now on.”

“What?! That’s it! Screw my deadlines!”

“Now I’m gonna get mad.”

“Is there no respite for me?! Where do I go from here?!”

“We all feel confused about Aki’s disappearance to varying degrees. Let’s hope things pan out in an interesting way.”

Chapter 3: Life Without My Brother’s Friend

Kohinata Iroha’s Side

The weekend passed, and we were now on Monday, facing another week ahead. Senpai had been missing for three days now, and we still had no idea where he might be. It was super depressing. It felt like I had some kinda vitamin deficiency when I couldn’t bother him first thing in the morning.

Seriously.

I got ready and went out into the hallway. The two doors next to my place opened at the same time like they’d been waiting for me.

“Morning,” Mashiro-senpai said as she emerged from her apartment.

“Hey.” Otoi-san had come out of Senpai’s.

“Good morning,” I said, then sighed. “It’s way too weird seeing you come through that door, Otoi-san.”

“Y’think? Feel right at home here already, personally,” she replied.

“It’s not good to adapt to places too quickly. Unless you’re a wild animal.”

“Like a sloth. ’Sonly way we can survive.”

I swear she was making this stuff up as she went along. Besides, she was supposed to argue with me on the animal point, not take it with a straight face.

Our dumb interaction over, we headed for the elevator. Once we were in, everything just felt awkward. I asked Otoi-san if Senpai had made contact, she said no, and then no one said anything else. We didn’t have anything to talk about except him, and it really drove home the fact he was the one who connected us all.

But I couldn’t whine about his absence forever. If I struggled to talk to these two now, I’d just have to learn to do better next time. Nothing was going to change if I didn’t take that first step, so I’d need to find the courage to start a conversation.

When we stepped out of the apartment building and onto the sidewalk, I started glancing at Mashiro-senpai’s and Otoi-san’s faces, searching for a topic for us to talk about. I just needed a starting point... Just one little thing... Hmmm...

Huh?

I took a closer look at Mashiro-senpai and noticed there were darkish shadows under her eyes. “Didn’t sleep well, Mashiro-senpai?”

“Huh? Oh, um, yeah. I didn’t.”

“’Cause you were so worried about Senpai?”

“Obviously not.”

“Oh. Right.”

Don’t sweat it, Senpai. Sometimes a girl has more to think about than the boy she likes!

“I don’t know if I should ask,” Mashiro-senpai said, “but the 05th Floor Alliance has like an unspoken NDA thing going on, right?”

“I guess you could say that! I don’t remember signing anything, though,” I replied.

“Me neither... You won’t say anything either, right, leader?”

“Nah,” came Otoi-san’s super-offhand response.

I was pretty sure this was about to be more serious than she was taking it, but whatever. It would be Senpai’s problem if this all went south. It’d be his fault for putting Otoi-san in charge and vanishing, and it’d serve him right!

“Okay, then I’ll say it,” Mashiro-senpai began. “The book I wrote under Makigai Namako, Snow White’s Revenge Classroom, is getting an anime.”

“What?! Isn’t that, like, a huge deal?!” I cried.

“I guess.”

I wasn’t an expert or anything, but social media seemed to blow up whenever a popular title had an anime adaptation announced. The author would express their gratitude, crying as they thought back on all the hard work they’d put in, and the fans would be congratulating them and speculating excitedly about the director, animation studio, and voice actors. It had to be a real high point for any literary work. A coming-of-age moment, if you will.

But Mashiro-senpai didn’t seem all that excited. I guess when you were a wildly popular author like Makigai Namako-sensei, it was just a matter of time before your new series got a show. Like, it was just an everyday part of what you did. Wow, Mashiro-senpai really was something.

Thinking about it now, my perception of her had changed ever since I learned about her secret identity. Till now, she was just an adorable senpai of mine and a love rival for the other Senpai in the picture. But now I could see the aura of a talented author around her. It was crazy what a job title could do.

“Once the anime’s set in stone, my publishing schedule’s going to get really tough, and I’m going to have to do so much work that doesn’t involve writing. Why are they asking me to write two years’ worth of plot already? Ha... Ha ha ha...”

“Y-Your eyes are pointing in two different directions, Mashiro-senpai! Sounds like you’ve got it rough!”

“I do. Real rough. And the screenplay meetings start this week. So much work...”

She looked so dejected. From the outside, getting your work animated seemed like a dream come true, but when you were that author, I guess there was no dream. It was all reality.

“You really are Makigai Namako-sensei, huh?” I wondered aloud.

“You still don’t believe me?” she asked.

“That’s not it at all! Actually, I should’ve realized it when you were on that trip with Canary-san. We’re a real dense bunch, huh?”

“You really are. Though it sure saved my skin. I was sure you’d figured it out when you saw us together.”

“Aha ha! Can you blame us, though? Who’d have thought we were working with a superfamous author?”

“Huh, I guess that was enough to throw you off,” Mashiro-senpai said.

“I bet you’ve got fans at our school. They’d be all over you if you told ’em who you are!”

“That sounds like hell,” she said, quietly but firmly, her limbs shaking. Her face was as sickly pale as the protagonist in a horror game. “If they find out who I am...I’m dead.”

“C’mon, you’re overreacting,” I said. “I wasn’t gonna tell anyone.”

“It’s not that simple, Iroha-chan. Do you know how much of a burden it is to be famous in modern-day Japan? Being even a little well-known is like being caught in the cross fire of an Infinity Bind spell. People wanna know every detail of your life, and tabloids print nonsense about you that gets you hounded online. Anyone who outs me is gonna get cursed and die a seriously painful death.”

“W-Well, no one’s outed you yet, Mashiro-senpai! And no one in the Alliance would ever do something like that!”

“I don’t really have anything a tabloid could make a big deal about anyway...because I don’t socialize with anyone. Ha ha. Ha ha ha.”

“Now we’re on to self-deprecation?! You’re seriously hard to deal with when you haven’t had enough sleep, Mashiro-senpai.”

“Actually, y’kinda do have somethin’ they could report on.” Otoi-san spoke up then, her lollipop stick rolling around in her mouth. “Somethin’ ’bout an affair with the boy who lives next door.”

“And now he’s missing!” I added.

“Oh yeah.” Otoi-san nodded. “’N’ if a reporter took a photo now, they’d think I was your girlfriend.”

A surprise yuri attack! Since it was coming from Otoi-san, it probably didn’t mean anything, but it did get my heart racing a little!

This was a former delinquent who took life at her own pace, with a strong look in her eyes and a slightly deeper than average voice. It wouldn’t be wrong to say she’d be the most likely out of all of us at the Alliance to join the all-female Takarazuka Revue as a musical actress. She had the charm for it.

That, or she’d be the most popular waiter at one of those cafés made up of female staff dressing as guys.

“No, they wouldn’t,” Mashiro-senpai said. “I only have eyes for Aki.”

“Huh. Least y’can admit it now.”

“Shut up.” Mashiro pouted, back to her usual prickliness.

Thinking back, at first, she was only ever short with Senpai and me. She’d kinda shy away from anyone else. But now she was cold to Sumire-chan-sensei, Midori-san, and even Otoi-san. Her circle of friends had really widened up over time. Though, yeah, it was weird to be measuring that by how mean she was to people.

“Actually, ’skinda peaceful without Aki around, don’tcha think? Means you two don’t hafta fight over him.”

“Hey! Telegraph your shade, please!” I said.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s here or not,” Mashiro-senpai said. “We might be rivals, but we’re friends first. It’s irrelevant that we fell for the same guy.”

Otoi-san hummed, thinking. “Y’know, I’m no expert myself, but one of the folks in Krimzon knew everythin’ there was to know about yuri.”

Huh? What did yuri have to do with anything?

“’N’ apparently, some of the best girl-girl relationships come from both of ’em crushin’ on the same guy.”

“You wanna not say something that sounds so controversial so loudly?!” I cried, jumping in to cover her mouth. There might’ve been a savage group of yuri fanatics nearby, and then what?! They’d be pissed.

“You know no fear, Otoi-san...” Mashiro-senpai murmured. “You know that some yuri fans don’t wanna see any males in their media at all?”

“What, so we gotta quit talkin’ ’bout it altogether? Seems disrespectful.”

“Also true, but... Wah, I don’t wanna think about what’d happen if I, as an author, put out a statement like that on social media.” Mashiro-senpai shuddered. Fame sure seemed to be a tough gig.

I was one of those girls who wasn’t on social media at all. Maybe my life was happier this way. If I remembered right, Sasara also once got dragged through the mud online over nothing.

The internet was a cruel place.

Hold on. I was on track to make my major debut thanks to mom’s support. Maybe stuff like that was waiting in my near future. But I couldn’t start thinking negatively! I was supposed to be getting serious right now!

Speaking of serious (or not), nothing fazed Otoi-san, huh? She could talk about a potential relationship between Mashiro-senpai and me like it was nothing.

Because it would never happen! Never ever ever ever in a billion, gazillion years!

Though maybe if this were a yuri manga, this’d be the part where I’d get proven wrong.

...

Nope! No way!

***

Once we got to school, I had to part ways with the older two girls. I headed for the first-year classrooms alone. The girls I passed in the hallway were all chatting animatedly with their high-pitched voices.

They didn’t know about Senpai’s disappearance; this was just an ordinary day for them. Seeing them made me doubt whether what happened last week was even real. I tried mentally insulting them for their vapidness and then moved on to hating myself for my weird resentment when they hadn’t even done anything wrong.

Jeez, Kohinata Iroha sure was annoying!

I pulled my courage together and stepped into the classroom, at which point I was approached by a girl with a side ponytail that wagged like a dog’s.

“Morning, Iroha! Haven’t seen you in ages!”

I grimaced. “Morning, Sasara.”

“You do not look happy to see me! That’s so rude!”

“I’m just not in the mood to be all bubbly.” Must be nice to be so carefree and happy in the morning.

“Now you’re squinting! You’re totally making fun of me, aren’t you?!”

“I am not. I’m thinking jealous thoughts, actually.”

“Je—” Sasara cut herself off and giggled. “Oh, okay. You’re jealous of me, huh? Geh heh heh.”

“Because it’s like you don’t have any worries at all.”

“So you are making fun of me!” she wailed.

She was hilarious.

“Anyway, Iroha, gimme the deets!”

“What deets?”

“Whaddya mean, ‘what deets’?! You went all the way to Kyoto to chase after your senpai, right? So are you all kissed out or what?” Sasara made a sideways-three face and started jabbing my ribs with her elbow. She was annoying.

Couldn’t she figure anything out from how depressed I was? Couldn’t she read other people’s emotions at all? Did I look like I’d had a total blast in Kyoto?

“Spill it!” Sasara said. “I bet all your dreams have come true!”

“Senpai’s upped and vanished. So there.”

She stared at me. “What?”

She kept muttering, “Vanished...vanished...” like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. And then, after a long, long time, the word seemed to sink in. “Whaaat?! You mean he’s, like, gone?!”

“Stop shouting!” I cried, jumping in to slap my hands over her mouth. I knew the news shocked her, but that still didn’t mean she could just bellow it out in the middle of the classroom. Was she stupid or something?

Sasara had been superannoying before I told her what was up, and she was just as annoying after! She had a real talent for being a pest. In fact, she was too talented. She was the exact type of character who’s somehow smart enough to avoid being written out in the second half of the story. It was probably a good idea to subtly remind her of her place before it was too late.

I moved my hands away, and she gasped for air. “S-Seriously, though, what happened?! People don’t disappear just like that, do they?”

“They sure don’t. Yeah, stuff happened.”

“It’s gotta be more than just ‘stuff.’ Let’s go to a café after school. You’re gonna fill me in!”

“No can do. I’ve got training,” I replied.

“Oh, yeah. You were learning under an amazing actress or something, right?”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

Technically speaking, the lesson was with a sound director mom knew and not Mizuki-san, but I didn’t see the point in sweating over details. Apparently, Mizuki-san knew the person too anyway.

“Are you even gonna be able to focus when Ooboshi-senpai’s missing?” Sasara asked.

“Yeah, I’m in crappy condition. But that’s no excuse for me to loaf around doin’ nothing!”

“I guess not, but y’know...”

“Besides, I’m doing this for Senpai too, not just myself.”

“Whaddya mean?”

Senpai had temporarily put Otoi-san in charge of the Alliance. Temporarily. That meant he was planning to come back at some point.

And Senpai didn’t break his promises. He promised to be my producer through to the very end. He promised not to abandon the Alliance. He’d cut himself out of the equation in exchange for mom’s acceptance of me. That was all. He was taking the fall so that I could shine brighter.

And it was because I believed in him that I was prepared to give my all to this training while he wasn’t around. Yup, it was for the best. The bestesty best!

“We’ll save the café for another time,” I said.

“I guess that’s fine. I don’t wanna spend my afternoon listening to you whine nonstop anyway.”

“I can always call you and whine to you over the phone if I feel like it,” I said.

“Hey! That’s s’posed to be something I offer to you outta the goodness of my heart! And what, you admit you were just gonna whine?”

“Aha ha ha! You never miss with those comebacks!” I couldn’t help but smile. You just didn’t get this kinda joy from anything other than Sasara’s miserable tones. That said, my friend was showing me some consideration, and that was something I wanted to recognize.

I felt like a weight had been lifted. I was ready to do my best, even if Senpai couldn’t be there to support me!

Tomosaka Sasara’s Side

Tomosaka Sasara lives for the now! I always put in a hundred percent to make the present as good as it can be, without worrying about the future or being held back by the past. It was my trademark, the most awesome way to live, something I’d learned through watching a ton of videos and reading the words of people who’d achieved great things. Sounds like it can’t be beat, right?

If there was one moment in my life I regretted, it was probably the second I became friends with Iroha. I’m not being serious, of course. I’m saying it as a joke! If I ever made fun of her, she’d only make fun of me back, and her annoying attitude was always turned up to eleven. Sometimes I even wondered if she saw me as a friend or a punching bag.

But the truth is we were friends. I was both interested and worried about what had happened to her after she had chased after Ooboshi-senpai while he was on a class trip just because she missed him. I was all up for chatting with her at a café, but what could I do about it if she was busy?

I was kinda bummed I didn’t have anything to do as I packed up after school. But when I stepped out of the gates, my phone buzzed. It was a LIME message.

Who’s that? I thought to myself. I checked. Hoshino-san. I jumped and gripped my phone with both hands.

If it’d just been some random rumor from an influencer or someone sharing a meme, I would’ve ignored it. But this was a message from the person I admired more than anyone else! It would be read and replied to lickety-split!

Are you done with school? Sorry it’s so sudden, but could I ask you for a meeting?

Absolutely! I replied right away.

I had a good idea of why she wanted to meet. She’d approached me about it before: getting Pinstagram influencer SARA’s work published.

That’s right. Anyone would be able to tell from my bags of knowledge and charisma, but I had a crazy number of followers on the major social media platform Pinstagram. I was especially popular with young women. My influence caught the eye of editor Hoshino Kana-san, who’d asked me a few months ago to submit an essay. I’d been working on it whenever I found the time in my day-to-day life.

It wasn’t long ago at all that I’d finally submitted the second draft. Hoshino-san probably wanted to discuss it with me now.

We can meet somewhere close to your place, she messaged.

It’s okay! I’ll go to your office.

If you’re sure, then make sure you keep your travel receipts and I’ll cover your fare.

Got it!

I sent my message and spun right around, pointing myself toward the station. Where else? I was off to Tokyo, home of UZA Bunko, the publishing company at the very heart of modern Japan’s economy!

An hour on the train, and I’d made it to my destination. I was used to the big city already. The first time around, I’d been overwhelmed and had been shouting about how dizzyingly tall the buildings were. But I’d totally gotten over my out-of-towner syndrome since!

Nowadays, you’d think I was a total city girl by the way I walked these streets so confidently without even staring. Any building under ten floors didn’t even register as a real building to me anymore. I spluttered at how tiny those five-floor structures were.

The scale of my entire life was on the up-and-up, heh heh heh. I couldn’t ask for anything more.

I wore a confident smile on my face as I went into the office building and took the elevator up to the sixth floor, where the guest waiting area was. There I found an extension phone and a weird robot (apparently made by UZA Bunko’s parent company) to welcome me.

“Hello. Hello. What is your business?” it asked.

The robot creeped me out every time I saw it. Imagine how terrifying it’d be to hear its voice in the middle of the night. I’d probably cry. So I ignored it and went to call Hoshino-san through the phone.

I didn’t have anything to do while I waited for her, so I went to one corner of the area, where they had a bookcase. There was a whole row of books printed under UZA’s business label, from the writings of world-famous athletes to the managers I’d seen videos of recently. There were even novels with little anime-esque drawings.

Oh, yeah. Chatarou had this one in his room.

“What the heck even is this manga? Totally seems like the kinda thing a gross nerd’d read,” I’d said, and then he lost it and shouted at me that light novels and manga weren’t the same thing. As if I was supposed to know all the pointless details.

Still, it could be a light novel if it wanted. It was bound to be fantastic if it was something Hoshino-san brought out! She was a professional through and through, and I really admired that.

Fashionable, gorgeous, and with a winning personality—there was no way she was a secret otaku. I was sure she’d rather put out a normal novel instead of something like this, and yet she was so devoted to her work that she’d turned it into a hit. It was that thing about a good workman not blaming his tools.

I had mad respect for that. I literally wanted to be her when I was older.

Wait. Wasn’t that the title she was in charge of that recently got an anime announced?

I took the copy of Snow White’s Revenge Classroom from the shelf. The way people were talking about this on social media, you’d think a war was starting. It must’ve been big if someone who didn’t even watch anime had heard of it.

The cover was actually kinda artsy. I always thought these anime books for nerds all had art that was super cringe and trying too hard to be cutesy. I guess you’d say this one had more of a fancy feel to it? The illustrator had gone into real detail with the gothic lolita outfit, and you could really feel how much work they’d put into every last part of the picture. The art was actually adorable.

Now it had my interest, so I started flipping through the book itself.

“The writing’s better than I thought. It’s easy to read but not boring, and I can really picture what’s going on. I totally get what the main character’s thinking too. Like, I can relate to her.”

The protagonist was bullied. That’d never happened to me, but there was also the way she worried about what the other students thought or whether they were looking at her, and the way she struggled with gauging a conversation partner’s feelings when they spoke. I just needed to take a moment to think about it, and then I realized all the emotions woven through the words were things I recognized in myself.

Crap. I could really get into this. Maybe I’d stop by a bookstore on the way home and grab myself a copy.

“Hi, SARA-sensei!” A sudden voice from behind cut through my fuzzy feels.

I turned around to see none other than Hoshino-san herself. Though she was short, she stood up straight and carried herself with confidence, so you couldn’t even say she was small. She was just so gorgeous with her dazzling blonde hair and big eyes, and right now she was approaching with a smile on her face and my manuscript in one hand.

“Hi, Hoshino-san!” I replied.

“Oh, you were reading Snow White’s Revenge Classroom?”

“I’m gonna buy a copy on the way home! It’s killing me to put it down right now!”

“I’ve got some sample copies in the office. I could give you one of those if you wanted,” she said.

“I can totally tell it’s a masterpiece from the opening! It’s so good I wanna spend money on it. I wanna show my respect for it, ’cause I’ve got tons!”

“Well, color me impressed! The publishing world sure would have it easier if everyone your age thought that way.”

I laughed bashfully, reveling in the contact as Hoshino-san slapped me on the back. An imaginary Chatarou was calling me pathetic and gross as he cracked a whip at me, but I couldn’t help it. I mean, my idol was praising me! Anyone’d lose themselves a little bit, including me.

But I didn’t want her to see the sleazy look on my face, so I quickly composed myself.

There were a few conference rooms at the far end of the waiting area. Hoshino-san led me into one (she must have reserved it for us). It was a white room that gave off a fresh impression.

The most standard meeting room you’d ever find. Not that I’d ever visited any other companies, so I couldn’t actually say that for sure. While I’d done PR posts for different firms on Pinsta, I’d never been invited to see my clients in person. Influencers like me loved to boast about how much sway we held over society, while never actually having had the same experiences as our ordinary working audience.

But anyone who wanted to make something of it could shut up, eat my superior lifestyle, and stare at my middle finger from the depth of their ignorance!

Okay, but I am self-aware. And according to that one successful manager’s book, that was super important.

“Ready to get started?” Hoshino-san asked.

“Yup!” I paused. “Wait...Hoshino-san?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Um, well...” I was staring right at her, but too flustered to figure out how to word it. Though I hadn’t noticed when I first saw her, it was blindingly obvious in the light of the conference room.

Hoshino-san did not look okay. Her face was colorless, like she was about to drop dead. She looked like one of those evil wizards in a fantasy movie who gets in the protagonist’s way by firing off terrible curses before going on to carry out a ritual to resurrect the final boss.

There was a grayness around her eyes, and her cheeks looked a little thin. But her makeup skills were super on point, because you couldn’t tell just at a glance. Anyone except me wouldn’t have noticed.

“You look tired,” I said.

Hoshino-san immediately slumped over the table in front of her. “Oh, you can tell? That’s not good. I’m supposed to be a professional...”

Even the long, curled, antenna-like bangs framing her face had wilted like a dehydrated cactus.

“It’s fine!” I said. “I can only tell because I’m so sensitive to what healthy skin looks like.”

“Nuh-uh. A professional has to be conscious of how they’re perceived by everyone, including the outliers. I’ll have to do a better job at hiding it!”

“I hope you’re not pushing yourself too much.”

“I promise I’m okay! Pushing yourself’s in the editor’s job description. Things were way worse before the Labor Standards Act got stricter, so all of this is a breeze.”

“Wha...” She used to work even harder? I guess it was a good thing she could talk about it with a smile like that.

“I’m just a little busy right now. One of my titles suddenly got picked up for an anime.”

“You mean Snow White’s Revenge Classroom?!”

“That’s the one! It really was sudden. Right out of the blue.” Hoshino-san sighed as she emphasized the lack of warning she’d gotten. She didn’t elaborate, but I did get the sense that the world of work could be tough. “I guess throwing a tantrum does get you what you want sometimes.”

“Huh?”

“It’s nothing... Chirp. Chirp, chirp.”

“Okay...” It sounded like she was trying to throw me off the scent, which was fine. Wasn’t sure what all the chirping was about, though.

“Anyway, we got past the first and worst hurdle. We did not have enough people to pick up the slack with all the extra work till today, when our new part-timer came in. He takes the work seriously and he’s pretty capable too, so hopefully he’ll make things easier. Hopefully.” Hoshino-san laughed vacantly. I never imagined a woman who worked as hard as she did could look so defeated. The publishing industry must have been super tough.

“You should totally go to a sauna!” I suggested. “I’m all about ’em right now!”

“Sounds like a great idea. Got any recommendations?”

“There’s a famous one around here called Steam Slave. You need a membership, but you do get a private room. Perfect if you wanna reset by yourself after work.”

Hoshino-san hummed with interest. “That does sound intriguing.”

“And what about getting yourself a massage? There’s another famous place—a head spa—nearby.”

“I’m good,” she said immediately.

“Oh, right. I’m sure you have a favorite massage parlor already. Probably one all the celebrities go to, hidden away somewhere.”

“Well, I guess you’re not exactly wrong. I met a fantastic masseuse lately. He knows right where the most effective pressure points are,” Hoshino-san said, looking up at a forty-five-degree angle.

Was she trying not to look me in the eye? Nah. She was the last person to have such an obvious tell. She was just multitasking during our conversation and coming up with her next business idea. Talk about amazing!

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get you all concerned about me,” she said before tapping the bundle of printed paper in front of her. “Let’s talk about your essay, shall we?”

“Okay! Thanks!” I sat up straight and switched my brain over to work mode. I was still worried about the state she was in, but there was such a thing as being overly kind. If there was one thing I could do for her right now, it was to talk to her about this anthology with maximum professionalism!

The meeting was on!

Kiraboshi Kanaria’s Side

Good morning, day, or night, chirp! I get extra print runs on every title. You want stories that’ll grip you in their talons, you’ve come to the right place! Romance, battles, isekai, we’ve got it all! And it’s all thanks to me, UZA Bunko’s seventeen-year-old superstar editor, Kiraboshi Canary! Nice to tweet you!

I’m always like that in front of my fans. Energy and cuteness levels up to the max. But when I’m working in the office, I’m as sensible and ordinary as can be. My mind is usually at the same level of calm, except when I have to get really fired up.

And today was one of those days I needed to stay calm. I had met with SARA-chan, real name Tomosaka Sasara-chan. The whole idol thing would be fine if I had been seeing a light novel author, but influencers had zero resistance to those kinds of theatrics, so I had to put on my most normie face if I didn’t want to spook her.

Anyway, I looked up at the clock to see it was 10 p.m. My meeting with Sasara-chan had ended two hours ago, and after that, I had been chasing up a design company for the book cover of a title due to go to print any day now. Then, I proofread one of the manuscripts I was in charge of with an efficient hand before reading another by this year’s rookie prize winner.

And now it was 10 p.m. My coworkers always seemed astonished by what I could get done in a couple hours. Chalk it up to a combination of talent, experience, and grit.

I should head home, I thought to myself as I leaned back in my office chair and stretched my limbs as far as they would go.

“Are you finished for the day, Hoshino-san?” one of the younger editors asked.

He was one of those upbeat kids. Graduated from a famous university and used to be in a sports club. He was brainy, brawny, and handsome, so I bet he was super popular with the girls as a student. I think the girls in the office liked him too.

“Yeah. You should go home too, instead of doing all this overtime,” I said.

“Honestly? I’m killing time here till Jinguuji-sensei’s mixer.”

“Another one? I know you can get it expensed because it’s a meeting with an author, but it sounds to me like you’re just looking for fun.”

“Aw, come on,” he replied. “He hasn’t had much luck in the love department, so I’m just helping him find someone. It’ll motivate him when he works on his manuscripts too, so it’s actually a valid expense!”

“You can clench your fists and put in all the enthusiasm you want. It still sounds like an excuse to me.” I couldn’t help but sigh. This guy was apparently popular at these mixers too. Personally, I didn’t see the appeal in types like him.

“Y’know, I really admire you, Hoshino-san. You’re like the ideal editor. How many total copies of your works are out there again?”

“Nice try. If you wanted to get on my good side, you should’ve remembered the number for yourself.”

He sucked the air in through his teeth. “Ouch. Either way, you’ve got an insane track record. You could probably become editor-in-chief whenever you wanted, so how come you haven’t been promoted yet? Does this company suck at employee evaluation or something?”

“Not everyone wants to be editor-in-chief, you know.”

“Right, I hate responsibility myself, so I’d rather stay as a grunt. But people who work as hard as you do are usually more ambitious, aren’t they?”

“Says who?”

“Huh? If you’re not looking to get promoted, why do you push yourself so hard?”

“We seriously need more talented people around here,” I muttered.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, nothing.”

That blank look on his face was just one of the reasons I was getting headaches all the time lately. Back when I was job hunting, I was turned down by Imperial Books. I wanted to make UZA Bunko into this major publishing stronghouse to show them what they were missing.

Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, their bigger size, more successful titles, and higher pay continued to draw all the young, motivated hopefuls away from us.

This good-looking kid may have graduated from a decent university, but that was no guarantee of his talent, and it was a truth that hit hard. It was also the source of his fatal flaw. His life had worked out well without all that much effort on his part, so he didn’t have a good idea of what people who were struggling wanted to read.

And please, editor-in-chief? No thank you. Managing staff like him was a waste of my time. I’d rather put my brainpower to work editing for just one more author, launching just one more masterpiece, or even selling just one more book. I way preferred working where the action was.

“Y’know, Hoshino-san, with how talented you are, I’m surprised you’re still single,” he said.

“Careful. You know it still counts as sexual harassment even if the target is older, right?”

“You’ve got me all wrong! I’m just saying the guys in this company have zero taste if they’re letting a pretty coworker like you pass them by.”

“You know you’re also ‘a guy in this company,’ right?”

“No way! Are you saying I have a chance? I’d be super devoted to you!”

I laughed drily, then wagged a finger at him. “Sorry to break it to you, but I judge people based on their work ethic. I really can’t imagine a guy who doesn’t even take his work seriously is capable of paying me the attention I need.”

“Ngh. You’re a tough nut to crack, Hoshino-san,” my kouhai replied, hanging his head.

I shot him a wink. “I’m an idol. What did you expect?”

I then stood up, bag in hand. I didn’t head for the entrance just yet, but to one corner of the editorial department. The desk here had been unoccupied up until very recently. Sometimes I borrowed it for authors who were cutting their deadlines close and needed to focus, so it had become a little haunted. Like a house on the market that someone got murdered in.

Right now, there was a boy sitting at the desk.

“How’s it going, newbie?” I asked.

“I finished the work you assigned me two hours ago. Since then I’ve been analyzing data on series released in the past year, both from UZA Bunko and other companies. Marketing, strategies, prizes, reader feedback, and sales. It’s led me to a few conclusions.”

“Wow. You’re the perfect kouhai. And kind of lame, in a way.” Lame or not, I wished the permanent staff here could match his enthusiasm.

“Is it time to go home?” he asked.

“That’s right. Got all your stuff?”

“Yeah. I’m ready to go whenever.”

“Whenever is now. Come on, Aki-kun!” I gave him a wink.

The newbie—Ooboshi Akiteru—turned off his computer, picked up his bag, and got to his feet. “I’m ready, Canary-san. I mean, Hoshino-san.”

He was so straitlaced, you wouldn’t think he was still in high school.

“Thank you for letting me stay for another night. I really appreciate it.” With that, he gave me a perfect bow.

***

“So he didn’t vanish! He’s staying at an older girl’s house?! With an adult woman?! Oh my god, how hype is this?!”

“You seem really excited, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei.”

“You betcha, Ozuma-kun! Tell me one thing more thrilling than a toxic relationship with an age gap!”

“I guess it’s kinda impressive how your tastes run in the exact opposite direction to the law. It does mean I’m gonna have to tip off the authorities, though.”

“Whhhyyy?! Nooo fair!”

“Besides, I thought Ozuaki was your OTP. You were already cheating on that with Iroha x Tsukinomori-san, now you’re goin’ after another ship. You think no one’s gonna get mad?”

“I-I mean...I know it sounds bad, but...”

“But?”

“A great ship is a great ship! I’m not about to deny what’s in my heart!”

“You’ve got serious commitment issues, but at least you’re honest. I guess...”

Chapter 4: I’m Staying at an Idol’s House!

I, Ooboshi Akiteru, had applied to join UZA Bunko as a part-timer right after the class trip. My vision was already cemented by the time Otoha-san gave me her ultimatum.

Okay, so “vision” makes it sound cool, but it really wasn’t anything so impressive. I had a couple of backup plans ready to go, and I’d simply picked one of them out of desperation.

Canary once said I was free to rely on her if I ever got into trouble. So that was what I did. I rang her right away. Why, you ask? Well, it was simple.

Unless my directing talent was greater than that of Tenchido’s CEO, Amachi Otoha, there would be nothing I could give Iroha that her mom couldn’t. I needed training. I needed the experience, skills, and confidence that would allow me to compete in the adult world. I needed to aim for new heights if I wanted to be able to puff out my chest and declare that I was the only one capable of making Iroha shine.

The first indispensable step was to launch myself into the real working world of the entertainment business. Now, I still valued the 05th Floor Alliance. But in some ways, the Alliance was like management on easy mode. It was an ultra-safe comfort zone where I was king of the hill. There was a limit to how much experience I could gain there.

What I needed was a world full of unknowns I had zero control over. A chaotic world of business. Only in an environment like that would I be able to level up exponentially, and that was why I had knocked on the doors of UZA Bunko.

Canary had agreed to let me hop on board almost at once. Snow White’s Revenge Classroom was suddenly expanding beyond just novels, and the company was apparently dragging its feet on picking up extra staff to cope. They needed all the help they could get.

The official process for joining UZA Bunko as a part-timer was a pain, or so she said, so Canary ended up subcontracting me personally. It was a huge help that I’d already registered a business (the 05th Floor Alliance) in the past. It meant there weren’t any issues with me being paid as a contractor or paying my taxes.

And so, I was now working in UZA Bunko’s editorial department. At first, Tokyo’s crowds and skyscrapers overwhelmed me, but I quickly got used to it after a few days of work.

The class trip, the weekend, and then Monday. In reality, not all that much time had passed, right? Yeah, you might wanna rethink that one. Because I was actually in the office on Saturday and Sunday too.

I can’t say why. That’s not a figure of speech—I actually can’t. Saying I can’t say why is probably the most I can say. It’s a Labor Standards Act thing. Which might sound cool if it was in a manga, but in reality it’s just that: reality.

Anyway. Once I was done with work, Canary took me back to her apartment. She gave me a ride in her car, which was parked in UZA Bunko’s underground parking lot.

“Your car’s so fancy,” I said. “Even closing the door is making me nervous.”

“Don’t slam it, okay? I mean it! Repairs on imported cars cost a ton, chirp. You break it, and you’ll be floating up on a one-way trip to the sky, if you know what I mean!”

“I’ll be careful.” I gingerly closed the door on the imported car and sank into the passenger seat.

I really wasn’t used to a seat like this. It wasn’t like I’d never been in a car before; I’d been in the passenger seat tons of times while my parents drove, and more recently I’d ridden with Murasaki Shikibu-sensei.

But this was incomparable. Everything about the seat in Canary’s beloved sports car was different to the vehicles I’d experienced before.

We set off. Once we were out of the parking lot, we were hit by a flood of flashy lights. It was like they were trying to make the entrances to these random office buildings seem like super special tourist attractions.

Tokyo sure liked to make a big deal out of everything. Or maybe it was because we were in the heart of a modern business district. Either way, this was a crazy world.

The car exited onto the main road. I glanced beside me at Canary, who was handling the wheel like it was nothing.

“You’re a bit of a motorhead, huh?” I remarked quietly.

Not that there was anything wrong with that. The Kiraboshi Canary I knew was a capable editor, a workaholic who transformed herself into an idol to sell books. You could call her a total tryhard, only she’d become able to harness that tryhard energy to get actual results. She was super rich and had a villa, so it made sense that she liked to drive fancy cars around on top of that. It didn’t just make sense, actually; I’d more or less expected it.

“Actually, I turn my beak up at cars like this, chirp!” she said, no hesitation.

“You do?”

“I’ve been a bookworm ever since I was a hatchling. Books are my thing, not cars! Chirp!”

“A bookworm? I can’t really picture it,” I said.

“Ah. So you’re one of those guys who judges a book by its cover.”

“I try not to, but we all have our preconceptions.”

“Why would I work in publishing if I weren’t a bookworm, chirp?”

“Speaking of preconceptions!”

“Consider a masterpiece: a patchwork of tropes, or we could call them preconceptions, that gets people hooked. Any editor worth their grain would put their tailfeathers on the line for those preconceptions!”

“It sounds like you’re trying to impart wisdom, but I’m not sure it’s working.”

“Throwing people off the scent is an essential business skill. Don’t forget it, birdbrain!”

“Yes, ma’am.” I nodded, then realized I still had questions. “But if you’re not into cars, why do you have a luxury imported one?”

“The influential businessmen go crazy as a loon when they see it.”

“Businessmen? Like the older types?”

“Yup.”

“But your results are so impressive, Canary-san. Why do you have to bother with the superficial stuff?” I asked.

She laughed. “You’re riding in a car next to a gorgeous chick. Who do you think she is exactly?”

“Well. She’s Canary-san.”

“She is, uh-huh. But she’s also an adult, chirp. She puts a lot of effort into how she behaves socially on a daily basis, all so that she can get those results. And that’s—”

“—how the adult world works.”

“Bingo!”

So a fancy car was important, even if you weren’t really into cars. It was a disheartening dose of reality. This was how people at the forefront of their industry needed to behave. It left a strange taste on my tongue that I guessed people called “bittersweet.”

Oh, but I promised myself I wouldn’t be negative. I’d approached UZA Bunko to teach me the skills I needed to stand up to Otoha-san. I was here to familiarize myself with the world of adults. And if these were the standards required to navigate that world, then closing my eyes to them would leave me stuck.

***

Eventually, we arrived at our destination: a fifty-story high-rise apartment building. You know the type. The kind of building filled with wealthy metropolitans.

“Everything I’ve seen so far is just what I’d expect from someone so successful,” I said. “I guess you must’ve been aiming for a life like this ever since you were in school.”

“You’re chirping up the wrong tree there. I don’t even know if I’m happy roosting in a high-rise apartment now.”

“What? How come you live here, then?”

“You need somewhere with tight security when you’re a celebrity. An apartment block like this one ends up being your best option when you’re renting, chirp.”

“Huh, that makes sense.”

Canary had turned herself into an idol. That put her at risk of being chased around by rabid fans, being targeted for content by idiot influencers, and even being stalked.

We entered the high-security building and took the elevator to the top floor. Then, we passed through a heavyset door and into Canary’s nest (I’m talking figuratively, of course).

“And we are back!” she chirped.

“I still can’t thank you enough for having me,” I said.

“Quit with the formalities! I told you to make yourself at home. Repeat after me: ‘I’m home, chirp!’”

“Pretty sure I wouldn’t chirp, even in my own place.”

Besides, it was a stretch to expect me not to be nervous. It was hard enough visiting a girl or woman I didn’t know very well, let alone stay longer term. I’d been to Iroha’s place, Otoi-san’s, and Murasaki Shikibu-sensei’s to tear illustrations from her grip, but that was it.

Going way back, I’d also visited Mashiro—her family’s home, at least—but I figured that didn’t count. Though Tomosaka Sasara had invited me to her place to learn how to apply makeup, she wasn’t exactly a normal girl. I didn’t count her either.

As for the number of times I’d stayed at a girl’s place, it was a big, fat zero. Even if you rounded up, simplified it as a fraction, or factorized the whole equation, it was still zero. Here I was, your standard virgin boy. Obviously I was gonna be nervous.

I hadn’t even gotten to the worst part yet. I was hardly breathing as I watched Canary take her shoes off and walk into the living area. Putting aside the mystery of how old she was, the fact remained that she was drop-dead gorgeous. And I was permitted to stay in her apartment. I was fully aware of how crazy that was.

It was my suggestion to become her live-in pupil. I was eager to improve my skills as quickly as possible. Part of that was spending as much time with her as I could to absorb every last detail. That was what was at the heart of my request.

I never imagined this was how things would end up at first. What, I should’ve considered the possibility? Yeah, I know. I was just too preoccupied with the situation at hand and didn’t have any sketchy ulterior motives in getting close to Canary at all. And I mean that.

Uh-oh. I was getting too wrapped up in the events that led me here, and now I was spacing out. There was something I’d meant to do the second we got back.

“Canary-san,” I started, “would you like dinner? Would you like a bath? Or would you like—”

No, that sentence isn’t about to end how you expect.

“—to stream?”

“You betcha bills it’s the last one! My listeners are my life, chirp! I’ll always stream for them, no matter how frazzled I am after work!”

“Got it. I’ll try to be quiet while I prepare dinner.”

“You’re a super starling!” Canary shot me a snappy peace sign before heading off to the room she streamed from.

Despite what I said, I doubted anything I did would be picked up by her computer. This apartment was huge. There was a bar-counter thing going on with the living-dining space, like it was expected she’d host parties here, and the walls were thick and perfectly soundproof. She had so many rooms that letting me stay here wasn’t an inconvenience at all.

I thought my own apartment was relatively spacious, but this was on another level. It was the archetypal home of the young and successful type. I remembered once watching TV and they were showing off this fancy home that went viral online. I was fairly sure it had a similar layout to Canary’s place.

There was a heaviness in the air here, linked to Canary’s success, that was also a little dizzying. I headed for the room she’d given me and put my stuff down. Then I went to the kitchen, keeping my footsteps silent. I pulled up some recipes on my phone, then started rummaging through the fridge as I considered what to make.

I wasn’t an amazing cook or anything, but I figured I should learn how to serve decent meals as long as I was staying here. Canary probably got to eat fancy food when she went out for business dinners all the time, so I reckoned she’d prefer something that screamed “homemade” while she was here.

I didn’t think she was so stuck-up as to insist people without bread should eat cake, after all.

I decided to make meat and potato stew today. I assumed from the meat in the fridge that Canary wasn’t a vegetarian or anything.

“I can’t forget to put her stream up on the TV either.”

I opened up the video streaming app on the apartment tablet, connected it to the monitor in the kitchen, and launched Kiraboshi Kanaria’s stream. I was moderating for her, making sure nothing untoward happened and blocking any rowdy commenters.

I gathered my ingredients, cookware, spices, and utensils.

Oh, she’s starting.

“Hello, can you all hear me?” Canary did her mic check while adjusting the camera angle.

Her listeners’ comments came scrolling in through the chat:

Loud and clear!

All good!

Okay!

She had a thousand viewers. Then two thousand. Then three. It kept going up. The numbers were insane considering she hadn’t even started properly. It really spoke to her ability to market herself.

I wanna lick your face all over, Canary-chan! I wanna sniff you! Slurp slurp slurp HNNNNNNNNNGH!

Wow, a trashy comment that was way too explicit. Delete.

I had to wonder what the motivations behind writing and posting such lewd, creepy comments even were. I’d moderated on Saturday and Sunday too, and this kinda crap came up on every stream.

It might just have been the same person using a new account every time I kicked them. In fact, I hoped it was. I didn’t want to believe there was more than one person like that out there.

“Today, I’ll be showcasing UZA Bunko’s releases for next month! There’s one I’m editing that’s super-duper cute! I hope you’ll get out there and buy it, chirp!”

WOOOOOOOOO!

Canary-chan’s got a new release!

Yaaaaaay!

Whatever. I’m here to see you, Canary-chan. I don’t care about light novels.

And that last comment was getting deleted. What, you think that’s a bit harsh for someone who was only stating his opinion? Yeah, maybe it was, but I was only doing what Canary requested of me. She even told me to prioritize deleting these comments over the creepy ones.

The authors whose works she was introducing would be watching too. Kiraboshi Kanaria may have been a superstar, but she was an editor first and foremost. Her authors and their books were her priority. Rule number one was to get rid of any comments that would hurt them, and it was more important than anything to do with her idol work.

The outlay of the stream went like this: First, Canary would introduce the new titles. Then she would read through and answer questions that had been posted before the stream went live, and talk about her thoughts on currently airing anime, etcetera. As she went on, she would make sure to include her viewers in her conversations; the way she laughed as she spoke was incredibly natural. When she talked, it felt like she was giving her honest opinions rather than playing a character.

Of course, that wasn’t the case. She was playing a character.

Now, I wasn’t claiming to know everything there was to know about Kiraboshi Kanaria, but I was confident I knew the real her better than the majority of her viewers. And I could say with near certainty that she was putting on an act right now.

I’m not just saying that because she was chirping at the end of her sentences. Even her viewers should’ve been able to figure out that it was put on.

It was all the other stuff that was important. Like the rare points in the stream when her “mask” slipped and she gave an “honest” reaction.

That was fake.

Let’s take her intelligence as another example. Now and then she would “slip up” and do or say something that defied common sense. She’d create an opening that pretty much anyone would be able to jump on. Like she’d struggle to read difficult kanji, fail to recognize a place name, or get the steps in a recipe mixed up.

There were other examples too, but basically she’d make a show of being unintelligent. Her viewers would jump in to correct her, and she’d inevitably react with a bashful laugh and playfully stick her tongue out.

But Canary was at the cutting edge of the publishing world. Obviously she wasn’t stupid.

Every detail was accounted for. That was what it meant to be a professional.

Once her stream was done, Canary came slithering into the living room like a strand of soggy seaweed. “All done! I’m exhausted, chirp!”

“I bet. Dinner’s ready.”

“Wow! That smells so authentic!”

“It’s just meat and potato stew,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter! It still smells authentic! Get over there and plate up!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I reheated the stew and put together bowls of rice and miso soup. I then placed them deftly on the table in front of Canary, who was all but melting into her chair. I added the stew as soon as it was warm enough, then topped it all off with a beer can from the fridge.

“Thank you for waiting. Your drinks and dinner combo is all ready to eat.”

“Thanks. And thank goodness you’re actually competent.”

“Nah, this is pretty simple. I’m gonna have some too.”

“Go ahead. Let’s peck away!” Canary exclaimed, putting her hands together. I joined her.

Then, we picked up our chopsticks (mine were the disposable ones) and dug in together. The steam rising from the white rice mingled with the soy sauce scent of the stew and the flavors of the miso soup dashi and filled my nostrils with a blast of pure umami. I decided to start with a bite of potato. It fell apart easily between my teeth, spreading its flavor over my tongue.

I nodded to myself. I’d made a good meal here.

“Oooh, I’m in heaven!” Canary, who’d taken a bite at the same time as me, held a hand to her cheek. Her eyes were glistening. I mean, she was actually crying.

“It can’t be that good,” I said. “I’m sure you eat way nicer stuff than this on a regular basis.”

“I’ve been to hidden teppanyaki gems, sushi restaurants tended by the top chefs in all Japan, and fancy Chinese places so genuine you’d think you were in mainland China. I’ve pecked from the hands of all sorts of spots!”

As she spoke, Canary picked out a carrot piece from the stew and popped it into her mouth. From the expression on her face, it looked like the flavors permeated every taste bud. “I’ve been all over, sure, but then I come back to something nice and simple like this, and...”

“It’s like mom’s home cooking, huh?”

“More like a small eatery. Like how the ginger pork set at the most unassuming establishment is the tastiest, chirp!”

“Oh, right.”

It was a very mature response. I’d been in UZA Bunko’s editorial department all day, and I’d heard the most bourgeois snippets of conversation from the staff. Just the kind of stuff you’d expect from people working at a top-rate company in Tokyo. Like where the tastiest, fanciest yakiniku was, or what someone thought about the horse sashimi at a members-only restaurant.

And yet here was the person I expected to have the most pretentious tastes of all admitting how much she liked ordinary food. I couldn’t help but be impressed.

“You’d make a good househusband, Aki-kun. I might just have to marry you, chirp!”

“I thought idols were s’posed to steer clear of saying stuff like that.”

“Yup! That’s totally not okay! In fact, we definitely shouldn’t be roosting together at my place either!”

“Right?!”

I’d heard time and time again how it was a particularly sensitive issue for streamers. There were cases of female streamers taking an online beating for suddenly canceling their streams for Christmas, a holiday famously spent together as couples.

Or male streamers getting abused for cheating with female influencers. Okay, so that one was definitely a case of “should’ve known better.”

Either way, the moment there was a whiff of something untoward—and the legality of it didn’t matter one jot—a streamer could get battered mercilessly and be forced to go on hiatus or to step away from their activities altogether. If it were ever discovered that the popular Canary was having dinner at her apartment with a guy...

“If a little bird leaks this to anyone, I’ll be roasted into an overcooked duck and left to crumble like charcoal!” Canary cried.

“I’ll make sure no one finds out.”

I was as serious as could be about that. It was why I hadn’t been able to tell the Alliance where I was going. Obviously I trusted them, but I couldn’t run the slightest risk of causing trouble for Canary.

I had no hope in hell of paying the damages if anything happened to the superstar because of me. I’d lose everything, and the idea of innovating for Koyagi or managing Iroha after that would be utterly laughable. And so I’d decided to leave the Alliance in Otoi-san’s hands and disappear for a while.

Sorry I couldn’t tell you guys anything. If you wanna hold a grudge, direct it toward a society that flips out over nothing.

“Still, I’m really grateful you’re here, Aki-kun. I was so busy before that I felt dead as a dodo half the time,” Canary said.

“I’m not saying your apartment was a mess, but I could tell you hadn’t got around to cleaning in a while.”

“I wish I could take care of that stuff all the time. I just let it slip now and then when everything else has got me running around like a headless chicken. I guess you’d call it self-neglect. Sometimes I wanna give myself a good chirping-to!”

“Feels like I just caught a glimpse into the abyss of the adult world...”

Canary laughed and took a sip of her beer. “You’ll be right there with us when you’re all grown up, chirp!” She started to massage her shoulder with one hand, groaning quietly.

“Are you okay?”

“Here’s another problem with the abyss. Your shoulders and back start getting stiff like no one’s business.”

“Really? But you look so young...”

“You’ve seen those buildings they do up and repaint and stuff to look all nice, right? But that doesn’t do anything to change their age.”

“I’ve wondered about this for a while, actually. You’re always saying how you’re forever seventeen, but you’re not shy about speaking like you’re older, and you don’t seem to mind when I talk to you like you’re an adult either.”

Sometimes she’d wag her finger at me and tell me off in a half-joking manner, but I couldn’t remember her getting properly mad when it came to me respecting her real age.

“That’s because I know my own age better than anyone. I might be around thirty, but I still love myself, chirp! I dress myself up as a pretty teenager for fan service, but I’m just as proud of the regular Hoshino Kana as she is without all that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Besides, as long as you can keep yourself looking young at first glance, life’s way more fun as an adult. You can do all the stuff you weren’t ever able to do as a student, and as much of it as you want, chirp!” Canary flexed her muscles and grinned at me. Then she grunted and turned pale.

“Canary-san?”

“But when your body’s had it, your body’s had it, chirp...like your back and shoulders...” she said, trembling.

I’d heard Canary was a regular gym-goer, so I expected her to be tougher than an adult like Murasaki Shikibu-sensei, who preferred to spend her time indoors. Maybe they were more alike than I thought.

That gives me an idea...

“I guess it’s not easy being the superstar of a whole publishing department. So, are you ready?”

“What for?”

I didn’t have a very big skill set. But from the few skills I did have, there was something I could do to pay this professional back for helping me.

“A massage.”

***

The living room was filled with calming classical music and an aromatic fragrance. Kiraboshi Kanaria was right in front of me, lying face down on the couch. She’d just gotten out of her post-dinner bath and changed into her thin nightwear, and now she looked totally relaxed. Her silky blonde hair still had a slight dampness to it, and the air around her seemed warmer somehow from her skin’s heat.

I remembered then it hadn’t been too long since I’d given a massage to somebody else: Murasaki Shikibu-sensei and her overly sore body. For some reason, I often found myself giving massages to the adult women in my life. But like I said, it was one of the very few special moves I had, so maybe I just needed to accept it.

While I mused, I jabbed my fingers into Canary’s body, putting my full weight behind them.

“Mmm, that’s the spot, chirp...”

“You don’t have to do the whole idol thing during the massage too, y’know.”

“Don’t think you can get my mask to slip so easily! You don’t know how rare it is for people to catch me unawares, chirp!”

“I feel like it kinda defeats the point of getting a massage if you don’t relax,” I said.

Then, she was screeching. “There it is, chirp! The pressure-point jab!”

“You even chirp when you’re in pain!”

Her professionalism never failed to impress me. If you skip the part about her bringing a guy to her home, that is.

“You’ve got the perfect amount of pressure in those fingers, Aki-kun. Where’d you learn how to do this?” Canary asked.

“From books and videos.”

“Well if I was testing your eagerness to learn, you’d pass with flying colors! I love guys who work as hard as I do, chirp!”

“I wouldn’t say I’m that hardworking. Looking stuff up yourself is the most efficient way to learn.”

“You’d be surprised to learn how many kids can’t even do that. It really cooks my goose!” She must’ve been thinking of some of her kouhai at work. Though it sounded like she was partly joking, there was a real weight to her sigh. “Your ability to learn makes you really attractive, Aki-kun.”

I looked away and continued pressing my fingers in. “Thanks.”

I couldn’t deal with the compliment. It made me feel weirdly uncomfortable. I was good at giving compliments, but when it came to taking them... It might have been guilt, because she was praising me over nothing.

There wasn’t anything wrong with a world where you could earn a compliment for something as simple as being able to grill meat on both sides, but I’d probably struggle. I could never figure out why I was being praised.

“You came to UZA Bunko to get yourself to the point you could stand up against Tenchido’s CEO, right? That’s a lotta nerve for a fledgling to show, chirp.”

“I just don’t want to use my age as an excuse to give up,” I replied.

“You got a real winning spirit too!”

“I reckon most people would call it stubbornness and get annoyed.”

“If you wanna flock to the top of the entertainment world, you’re gonna have to accept that you’ll annoy a few people and make some enemies.”

“Are you speaking from experience, Canary-san?”

“You betcha! Lots of people can’t stand me!”

“But you’re so popular, and you get results. What’s there to hate about that? If anything, everyone should respect you.”

“Chup, chup, chup!” Canary wagged her finger at me. “Everyone acts like they respect me to my face. You gotta peck up to people more successful than you. But look inside their hearts and you’ll see a darkness blacker than a raven!”

“So what, they want to trip you up to get ahead or something?”

“If only that was it. It’s more like, being too conspicuous doesn’t get you any friends. Jealousy’s a scary thing, y’know! I once filed a legal request to find out who was sending this anonymous slander my way, and it turned out to be an editor from another publishing company!” Canary complained. “Same thing happened with an author I’d never even heard of. I guess I’ve sometimes had fans of other series turn into rabid haters of my stuff. There are all sorts of ways people can hate you! I could write a whole encyclopedia of hate with everything I’ve experienced, chirp!”

“You can’t be popular and avoid jealousy. I guess that’s why it’s hard to do work while in the public eye.”

The same probably applied for actors, including voice actors. When Amachi-san spoke about demons, she might have been referring to more than just the bosses who could exploit you. Maybe she was including anyone who could hold any sort of negative emotion toward you.

And if you asked me if I could protect Iroha from all that public negativity, the answer was “Not as I am now.” That answer hadn’t yet changed since my conversation with Amachi-san. But that didn’t mean I planned to let things stay that way.

I didn’t even know the enemies we would face yet. But now that I worked alongside Canary-san, I could at least spot their shadows in the distance. If I kept learning at this rate, it wouldn’t be long till I could stand tall with pride and go get Iroha back.

With those thoughts swirling about my head, I pressed in with my fingers again, making Canary-san let out a high-pitched gasp. “Oooh, right there. You’re working so hard, Aki-kun. I think you deserve a reward!”

“A reward?”

“Ask me anything you’d like to know about the adult world, and I’ll tell you, chirp!”

“You mean it?!”

“Mmm, you’re finding every good spot today!”

I’d leaned forward without realizing it. My weight pressed into Canary-san, and she let out a sound unlike anything I’d ever heard before.

That one was totally on purpose...right?

I resisted the urge to ask out loud. I couldn’t let this opportunity pass me by. “Do you know anything about recent trends in the video game industry that aren’t public?”

“What sort of trends?”

“Like business models that are set to be the norm in five years’ time, or technology they’re keeping under wraps, or market data from abroad. There’s so much data that’s out of my reach because we’re so focused on our limited user base. I don’t wanna be one of those businessmen who’s left high and dry because he couldn’t keep up!”

“I’m impressed, eagle eye! You’re trying to predict what your competitors’ll do.”

Another compliment. Was frequent praise an occupational hazard or something? I guess it was a part of her job, since she was constantly evaluating manuscripts from her authors.

“Working in publishing, I don’t have much intel about games, chirp. I’ve heard some rumors, though. Like, it was all about subscription services and the metaverse a while ago.”

“Subscription services? Like paying a monthly amount for shows and movies? Do you get that kinda stuff with games too?”

“It’s still not that common yet. The platform charges a monthly amount, and the developers get paid a share of the profits depending on how much time was spent on their games.”

“How successful is it?” I asked.

“It’s too early to count any chickens. But there are a lot of people working very hard to turn it into a golden egg.”

“Uh-huh. And what’s the metaverse?”

“They’re trying to make a virtual world anyone can spend time in, chirp.”

“Oh, yeah. I think I’ve heard of something like that.”

I couldn’t remember when, but I’d come across it online. Some entertainment company was focusing all its efforts on it, raising hundreds of millions toward the endeavor.

“I doubt this virtual world’ll ever be a replacement for the real one, though,” Canary said.

“I’m with you on that. You’d never get any exercise if you spent all your time there. Living your whole life in a VR world is something that only happens in fiction.”

“Exactly! I’m not sure it’ll take off. Whoever’s idea it was might just have their head in the clouds, chirp!”

“Imagine raising all that money for something that might not ever see the light of day.”

“An entrepreneur who looks like they’ve got big dreams is often more attractive to investors than someone who’s more realistic, chirp.”

I sighed. “That’s how it is, huh?”

I struggled to figure it out. From what I understood, a listed company needed loads of public favor and was heavily scrutinized, requiring its representatives to carry a lot of responsibility. The fact that this corporation had attracted so much investment with an idea that was vague and unrealistic seemed to contradict that.

The adult world... It was a tough one.

“Anyway, even if diving right into a digital world is the stuff of dreams, I do think it’s possible they’ll come up with something kinda close, chirp.”

“Close in what sense?” I asked.

“You’ve got a username, right, Aki-kun?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“A society is a group of people living together. The people you interact with online know you as AKI, not Ooboshi Akiteru. Are you pecking up what I’m putting down?”

“From society’s point of view, people have more faith in AKI than they do in Ooboshi Akiteru?”

“Right! No one in the gaming world is going to talk to you like an equal if they don’t know that you’re really AKI from the 05th Floor Alliance. But if you tell them that’s who you are, then anyone who knows Koyagi will trust you straightaway. A username is kinda like your avatar in the virtual world, and in some ways it’s getting easier to live with it as your main identity.”

“Huh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

It wasn’t all about names either. Faces too. A lot of people used fictional characters as their avatars on social media, and that was what they used to form societal connections.

“That’s how things are at the moment, and we might be in for a future that heads in that direction just a little quicker. How close we get to an idealized, fictional world depends on the research being done on the front lines. I’m not betting money either way, but I won’t scoff at those efforts either, chirp.”

Fair enough. Canary had a solid opinion of her own that didn’t require belittling or lauding what other people chose to spend their energy on. I couldn’t think of a better example of maturity.

“Oh, and this isn’t about the games industry,” Canary said, “but entertainment in general. Everyone’s talking about AI.”

“It was doing the rounds on social media too. I remember people getting mad because the technology’s advancing regardless of any ethical considerations.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the technology, but creators are right not to like it, chirp. Not that I think it’ll have any effect on people who already have real talent. It’s the people who are still destined for the top that’ll have to think about their relationship with AI. But that’s another area where we still don’t know where the chips’ll fall, chirp.”

“You know the constant chirping kinda undermines your argument, right?”

“And you know I’m being perfectly serious, Aki-kun!”

“I guess...” It was a bit high-handed of her to come up with such a quirky way of speaking and expect everyone to just roll with it. But whatever.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing you need to keep in mind, chirp!”

“Go on,” I said.

“Projects that involve the fans,” she replied, straightforward and cheerfully.

“You mean like all this interactive stuff that’s popular right now?”

“Mm-hmm. You’ve heard of crowdfunding, haven’t you?”

“You used to see announcements for it all over social media.”

“To raise funds for member-exclusive dining or ventures using niche technology, right?” Canary chirped.

“And in entertainment, it was stuff like funding a second season or movie for cult anime, figures, or to save a series close to getting axed.”

“That’s the idea!” Canary said. “I had a successful one last year, chirp!”

“Huh? But aren’t all your series super popular anyway? You probably don’t even know the meaning of the word ‘canceled.’ What did you need extra funding for?”

“A life-sized figure. Of me!”

“A sex doll?”

“What?”

“What?”

Canary stared at me wide-eyed, so I stared back wide-eyed. There was an awkward pause during which time seemed to stand still. Sweat started to pour down her face like a waterfall.

“I never thought anyone might use it like that...chirp,” she said.

“I feel like that’s one of the first things you need to think about!”

A life-sized anime figure was one thing, but one modeled after an actual person? Yeah... Our only hope now was to pray that only the pure of heart had ordered it.

Canary cleared her throat. “My point is, there’s been a recent trend in the entertainment industry to actively involve fans like that. Think about how much content is out there these days. Novels, manga, movies, games, videos, livestreams. It all eats into audience time, meaning that any one consumer can’t spend too much of it with any one product. It’s hard to retain their passion, basically. The most popular anime in one cour pretty much becomes a distant memory by the time the next one hits.”

“Hey, you’re right...” Putting aside the newest hits for the moment, I only needed to go back one or two cours to forget which series was airing when. Part of that might have been because of how busy I was with the Alliance, though.

“The biggest factor is how ‘special’ your product feels to each individual consumer, chirp.”

“And that’s helped by making it interactive?”

“Yup! That’s how you rule the roost!” Canary said. “Think about it. A consumer can stay a consumer, or they can feel like they had a hand in the creation. Which scenario creates a deeper emotional attachment?”

“Yeah, I see what you’re saying.”

I couldn’t agree more, for the simple fact that everyone in the Alliance—myself included—held an emotional attachment to Koyagi. We were its creators, its contributors. It made perfect sense. The same held true for Otoi-san, who did the music, and Tachibana and her band. They weren’t into nerd culture and didn’t generally play video games themselves. But I’d still wager they had some affection for Koyagi.

“You want measures that’ll inspire those same feelings in the audience,” I murmured to myself.

“It’s especially effective when it comes to facing a ‘new challenge,’ because it creates this sense of everyone flocking together to realize the same dream!”

“Huh, the timing is almost too perfect.”

“Hmmm?”

“We’re just about to embark on a new challenge ourselves.”

“This is the project to turn Koyagi into a console game, right?” Canary asked.

“Uh-huh.”

When I had approached Canary and UZA Bunko, not only did I express my desire to become a worthy producer for Iroha, but also my vision for the Alliance and Koyagi going forward. My zeal was so palpable that she had made an exception for me and offered me a part-time job there even though I was a high schooler. Or so she said.

“Thank you, Canary-san. Now I’ve got tons of ideas for what to do next,” I said.

She laughed, triumphant. “There I go launching another cute little fledgling into the world of entertainment.”

“I’m gonna go for a very special pressure point as thanks.”

“Go for it! I’ve got feathers of steel!”

So I did it. She squawked.

For a second I worried I’d gone too far. “Are you okay? Maybe I shouldn’t have pressed so hard.”

“Ha... Ha ha ha! C’mon, chirp! I’m forever seventeen! It’ll be years before my back gets all rickety. You can go as hard as you— Gyaugh!”

“It sounds like it’s all working a bit too well. I’m gonna go softer, okay?”

“Your kindness is what really hurts,” she grumbled.

Her body would give out if I tried to protect her ego, but if I tried to protect her body, her ego would give out. There was no winning. Maybe maturity was being able to maintain your sanity when you were caught up in a situation with no way out.

I said, as if I had any idea what I was talking about.

That night, as I got into the bed I was borrowing, I sent Otoi-san a message outlining the next instructions for the Alliance. I told her about the crowdfunding plan I’d just decided on, as well as some details about plans I’d had on the back burner for a while.

It sure had been a fruitful day. It felt like I had made ten times as much progress as if I’d been at school. Talk about efficiency. I pulled the covers up, eager to work just as hard tomorrow. As I closed my eyes, I turned my thoughts to Otoi-san and how I’d entrusted her with the team.

Sorry to drop you in it, but I promise to be more competent than ever when I get back! Hang in there for me, partner.

***

“Y’know, Aki acts way differently when he massages me...”

“Well, yeah. He respects Canary-san, and she’s going through a lot of trouble for him. He’s disillusioned with you, and you put him through trouble. Why did you think he’d treat you both the same?”

“I know what it looks like half the time, but I’m pulling myself away from my cutthroat career to contribute to Koyagi!”

“That’s really not the point.”

“Waaah... You don’t pull any punches, Ozuma-kun...”

“Would ya stop crying? That’s one of the reasons it’s so hard to respect you.”

“Tch! I’ve got to put up a tough front, is that what you’re saying? I knew it. Violence... Violence solves everything!”

“Now you’ve gone way too far in the other direction. First you’re sobbing, then you’re entering third cosmic velocity and turning to violence.”

“You never fail to impress with your flawless command of scientific terminology, Ozuma-kun. Sorry to say, though, but I’m a math teacher who knows all about science, so you’re not gonna outsmart me with that one!”

“I wasn’t trying to outsmart you. You really can’t communicate without turning everything into a competition, huh?”

“Thank you, Mr. I-Learned-How-to-Talk-to-People-Through-Dating-Sims!”

“Look, if you want people to respect you, you have to act in a way that earns it. Got it?”

“Maybe I should stick to the Venomous Queen act whenever I’m with Aki.”

“I don’t think you’ll be surviving much longer if you try...”

Chapter 5: My Abandoned Teammates Resent Me

Otoi Reiku’s Side

Weekday morning. 7:30 a.m., more or less. At the dining table in the Ooboshi residence. I’d finally finished my work, so I took a sip of my steaming Japanese tea and sighed with relief. Breakfast was ready to eat: white rice, store-bought natto. A staple Japanese breakfast.

I ate this breakfast so many times at home I could’ve gotten sick of it, but it’s better to find comfort than boredom in familiarity. It’s good to have something you can just make without needing to think.

Breakfast was no time to be exhausting yourself with fancy recipes or new challenges. Natto and rice was enough for a growing boy. Japanese tradition and all that. Probably. Yeah, I’m a growing girl, not a growing boy, but who cares? That was all just stuff I said.

I stared vacantly at the clock while mixing up the sticky natto. It’d be time to go to school soon, and the hands ticked on mercilessly. Usually I’d still be in bed and falling back asleep. But I was standing in for the 05th Floor Alliance’s leader, which meant I couldn’t laze about anymore.

As soon as I’d woken up, I did what I could to take care of the tasks Aki’d sent me over LIME last night. I told Kohinata Ozuma to set up an environment to make a game that could run on Tenchido’s ultra-famous console. Murasaki Shikibu-sensei/Kageishi Sumire’s friend from college worked at Tenchido, apparently, so I told her to ask about helping with the UI stuff.

that is so not gonna happen! you know how strict tenchido is?! i am NOT gonna drag nago-chan into this!

just ask & c. She might agree if u bawl ur eyes out

quit trying to gamble away my friendship!!!!!!!!!

That was how it went. Nothing too serious. But yeah, it’d work out. And if it didn’t, I could figure out what to do then. I gave myself over to the gentle currents of the river of life. That was how I dealt with things.

“Now I just gotta list some ideas for crowdfundin’. Jeez, I really can’t be bothered. He’s makin’ me do way too much...”

I was being overworked, and the fancy sweets weren’t enough compensation. I sighed, wrapping some of the now stringy natto around with the rice and taking a bite. It was good.

The weather and my energy levels may have changed like crazy on a daily basis, but at least tasty food was tasty all 365 days of the year. It never betrayed your expectations, especially if it was packed with sugar.

By the way, I liked natto too, even though it wasn’t sweet. I liked how it was all sticky and clung to my tongue.

“Crowdfundin’, huh?” I stared at the search results on my phone as I chewed through my breakfast. “I can just steal ideas for rewards off of other projects, so at least I don’t hafta come up with ’em myself.”

The question was what would come after. There was an endless list of work. You had to register with a crowdfunding service, plan your announcements, communicate with your backers, design your packaging, ship stuff out, and so on and on and on...

It was just like the 3D graphics stuff. I thought about letting Ozu deal with it but quickly gave up. Choosing who to contract work out to, preparing financial estimates, and negotiating with outsiders would probably be too much for him.

Real-life business was complicated. You couldn’t hammer out the details of a deal when you’d learned how to communicate through dating sim choices, so it looked like this was gonna fall to me.

Just imagining it made me feel like I’d lost a whole five kilos in body weight.

And even if I hired someone else to do it, it still involved handling personal data and careful communication, so it wasn’t like I could just give the work to the cheapest weirdo who’d accept. Like, what if I picked someone with sinister intentions and they just took the money and ran? That’d suck.

“I just need someone who’ll work hard...”

Someone who was smart, flexible, took stuff seriously, respected the law, would plan things out and see them through perfectly without any input from me, but would also do just what they were told without rebelling. If only someone like that existed.

Then it hit me. “Wait. I do know someone like that.”

A hard worker who took things so seriously it was like she had a rod up her spine. A warrior of discipline who followed every last rule and made sure everyone else did too. A prodigy among prodigies, who got a perfect score in every test in every subject ever since she started at Kouzai High School. A management beast who was flawless on the committee for both the culture festival and the class trip, planning them to give us students the time of our lives, and implementing those plans by using her incredible administrative skills.

And most impressive of all, she was so dangerously suggestible she was bound to accidentally let herself get picked up at the university welcome party by some older guy who was tanned and skinny but muscular.

I was talking, of course, about perfectly phenomenal honor student Kageishi Midori.

She was the perfect candidate to foist—sorry, entrust—this work to.

“Get stuff done quick if y’want it done easier.” I wasted no time in sending Midori-san a LIME message.

Whaddya mean, you’ve never heard that proverb before? Look, ease makes right or whatever. To me, an easy time was as close to virtuous as you could get.

Once I finished sending my message, I shoveled down the rest of my natto and rice. Guess it made me feel better now that some schmuck—sorry, kind soul—was gonna be taking care of some of my workload. The natto had tasted great already, but now it tasted about fifty percent better.

Kageishi Midori’s Side

I rose at six, went to the bathroom, and washed my face. Then I had breakfast, brushed my teeth, watched the morning news, and scanned a couple of newspaper articles to understand the social issues of the day. After that, I returned to my bedroom.

That gave me thirty minutes to skim a reference book, after which I left the house. I stopped to give directions to an old lady standing puzzled by the crosswalk, which meant I didn’t take the most direct route to school, but I still arrived exactly thirty minutes before class.

Normally, I liked to arrive forty-five minutes early, but my detour had delayed me. An hour would probably be too early, because there wouldn’t be any teacher supervision. But then, I was prone to getting wrapped up in one thing or another, so maybe it wouldn’t kill me to arrive just a little sooner.

The first thing I did when I got to my classroom was to turn my phone off and put it at the bottom of my bag. These days, phones were essential to contact your family with, so taking one to school didn’t contravene any rules. But obviously, letting it ring during class and using it during breaks to read manga or watch videos was unacceptable.

Rules were made to be followed. And so I would turn my phone off. But when I looked at the screen, I noticed a LIME message from Otoi-san.

Her again?

We’d both been on the committee for the culture festival, and now we exchanged messages often. By no means was she a bad person, but she took life at her own pace and rarely acted with urgency. That’s why I found our relationship difficult at times.

Having said that, it didn’t feel right to ignore a message she’d taken the trouble to write. It wasn’t time for class to begin yet, so a brief reply would be permissible. I opened the message.

Got work 4 u

Work?!

The last time I checked, we were in high school! Article 32 of the Labor Standards Act dictated that one should not work more than forty hours per week—or eight hours a day. There were even prefectural regulations that restricted work after 9 p.m. So long as I stuck to those laws, I wasn’t precluded from engaging in work via a part-time contract, but I didn’t have such a contract!

Oh. Maybe she was speaking figuratively. We used the word “work” when talking about committee business. That would explain it. Otoi-san was not flouting the rules by working a job without having notified the school first. I was relieved.

We can negotiate pay

Her next message hammered the nail right into the coffin. There was no way to interpret this as legitimate now.

Stop it! I cried internally. Let me keep the wool over my eyes!

As soon as break time hit, I dashed into the classroom two doors down the hall, and cornered Otoi-san, who was slumped over her desk.

“Explain yourself!”

I wished the other students wouldn’t stare. As much as I didn’t like to make a point of it, I was in the advanced class. People knew me as the top student of our year. Naturally, they should have been curious when I barged into their classroom. In a murderous state, no less.

In any case, this was no time to be bothered by the attention. I needed Otoi-san’s explanation as soon as humanly possible. Her last message had come just before class started, in that brief moment when using our phones didn’t break any rules. It contained a piece of information I couldn’t possibly overlook.

“What is this ‘work’ Ooboshi-kun entrusted you with?!” I asked.

“Hey, quit yellin’ right in my ear.” Otoi-san grimaced as she plugged her ears with her fingers.

My volume was very much not the issue here. An important matter had to be discussed loudly for it to be properly conveyed.

“And you say he’s vanished too? Fled? Absconded?”

“I mean, ’snot like he left the country. Probably.”

“It doesn’t matter where he went! The problem is he’s not here!”

“He could be halfway round the world ’n’ that doesn’t bother you? Guess the world’s small when you’re a genius.”

“Ooboshi-kun is missing and has asked you to do some ‘work’ for him. That’s what I want you to explain!”

“Jeez, do I hafta? ’N’ seriously, quit shoutin’ or there’re gonna be rumors flyin’ around.”

“There probably already are,” I said. “He hasn’t been to school in days!”

“Chill, ’kay? He kinda blends into the background of his class, so it doesn’t look like ’nyone’s actually noticed.”

“Well, now I feel sorry for him!”

In reality, none of the students were showing that much of a reaction to the fuss we were making. I could hear some of them asking who “Ooboshi” was, to replies of “I dunno” and “there was an Ooboshi in this school?”

It hurt to hear them speak about the guy I loved in that awful manner. But perhaps it was a result of how he conducted himself.

Yes, take that, Ooboshi-kun!

Ugh, that made my heart sting. The guilt was immense, even though I was just imagining criticizing him.

I’m sorry, Ooboshi-kun. I’m sure the classmates who were in your group on the class trip are worried about you. As am I. So please take heart, I told him. Even though he wasn’t there.

Otoi-san began to explain. Ooboshi-kun was the leader of a game development team called the 05th Floor Alliance, and they were working on their indie project, Koyagi: When They Cry. He had disappeared to do some training and wasn’t in touch with the rest of the team, save for temporary leader Otoi-san, to whom he sent instructions via LIME. Koyagi was on hiatus, and there was work required toward its next steps in development.

Otoi-san had identified me as someone skilled in getting things done, and so she wanted me to take care of it.

“I understand,” I said, “but what is it that you would like me to do specifically?”

“Find a 3D graphics company, contact ’em, get a quote, write up a work order, send it to ’em, manage the work, get ’em to hand it over, and put together this crowdfundin’ stuff in the meantime.”

“Wait, wait, wait, this doesn’t make sense! That’s far too much work! And it sounds like real work! I have no experience at all at this sort of thing. I can expect some level of training, can’t I?”

Otoi-san laughed. “You’re a real jokester. ’Course not.”

“Who’s joking?! I can’t do all of that without any training!”

“Sure y’can. You’re a genius. Just look up what y’hafta do ’n’ do it good enough.”

This was all too vague. No one engaging even ten percent of their brain should be requesting someone do all this for them so casually. Even the shady clients you found on social media who got in legal trouble would gaggle at this.

This wasn’t the casual request Otoi-san was making it out to be. I needed to turn it down and do so firmly.

“You know, I don’t just say yes to everything,” I said. “And I don’t care whose idea this was—”

“Pretty sure it’d make Aki happy if y’got involved.”

“—but the answer is yes!” I shouted.

I hated myself for yielding so easily. My brain had already done the calculations with complete composure and concluded that it didn’t matter what I did now: my feelings would not be requited.

Despite that, I wanted to support Ooboshi-kun in his endeavors. I wanted my name to be part of his turbulent tale, as wretched as that made me. I suppose this was what it meant to be a slave to love. It was certainly very annoying!

The bell sounded then, unaffected by the urgency of our discussion. A slack, relieved smile appeared on Otoi-san’s otherwise expressionless face.

“I’m countin’ on you. Next class is startin’ now, ’kay? Y’should go back to your classroom.”

“Hnnngh!”

This was entirely my problem now, as far as she was concerned. What a sneak!

But I’d be late for class if I pushed the matter any further, and the rules discouraged tardiness. If I let myself slip up over this, it wouldn’t be long until I became a complete rebel. The moment an honor student lowered her guard and broke even the tiniest rule, she was immediately pounced on by a bad boy who dragged her down the slippery slope of rebellion. It happened all the time in the books I read to research—yes, research—the male mind.

It was with a heavy heart and grinding teeth that I returned to my classroom.

***

In the end, I decided to take on the work. I did feel some resentment toward that demon of a boy for making me eat into my precious study time. That said, I knew well how straightforward Ooboshi-kun was. I could still remember the look on his face when he boasted about having the drama fair under control.

Not to mention the look on his face when he had earnestly listened to my confession before rejecting me. Though the contrasting emotions wrapped up in each memory made me uneasy, both of them spoke volumes about who Ooboshi-kun was. He was clumsy, reckless, and selfish. And straightforward, honest, to a fault.

On that night during the class trip, I’d cried like I’d never cried before, and probably like I’d never cry again. But my sadness didn’t just stem from the fact he’d turned me down. What hurt more than anything was that he had a long, long path ahead of him, and I would never be a part of it.

So was it that I wanted to help the Alliance in order to earn his favor? No. I just wanted to be close to him, facing the same way and heading toward the same destination. Even if I couldn’t be the person standing right by his side.

I honestly exasperated myself, but when I was thrown that lifeline, I was powerless to stop myself grabbing hold of it.

“Okay! That’s everything I need to know, and it’s all safely in my head!”

It was late at night and I was in my room. I was sitting at my trusty desk, which I’d been using since elementary school, for more than ten years. I slammed shut the thick book in front of me, my eyes aflame with zeal.

Three days. That was how long it had been since Otoi-san had forced her unreasonable request on me, and how long it had taken for me to learn the fundamentals of business. By myself.

To be honest, it took quite a bit of effort. The material was more technical than my studies for school, and much of the information was kept classified by its proprietary companies. The knowledge that was available to the public centered around general commercial practice, consumer psychology, and marketing, all presented as academic topics.

My instincts told me none of this would transfer to any practical skill, so I asked a teacher to introduce me to the manager of a cram school for me to conduct an interview with. I didn’t manage to learn anything about the games industry specifically, so I was still a little uncertain, but I didn’t have all the time in the world. If I waited to quash every single anxiety I had before making a start, I’d never get anywhere.

I put a lid on that anxiety for the time being, then decided to rouse myself by making a start on the work itself. I’d already gotten quotes from a number of 3D graphics companies which included their turnaround and cost, and based on those and the impressions I got from my meetings with them, I’d narrowed the choice down to a single firm: DeepHarp.

It was a start-up that didn’t seem to have been established for very long, but that was exactly why it was willing to take a high schooler’s request seriously. But just because I’d settled on our contractor didn’t mean I could rest easy. Next, I needed to order the actual 3D assets themselves. That meant acting as a mediator between our character designer and the company and ensuring smooth communication.

Was I confident I could do it? Of course I was. I may not have had any real business experience, but I was used to coordinating various committees at school. A bit of hard work, and I should be able to manage. There was just one little detail that had me breathing a heavy sigh.

“The 05th Floor Alliance’s character designer and illustrator...”

I still remembered the slovenly woman I’d met at that party. If there was a Pathetic Human of the Year award, she’d enter herself and cinch first place easily. She was the total opposite of my sister, a woman I greatly respected, and her name was Murasaki Shikibu-sensei.

“I’m not looking forward to this. I seriously hope she isn’t going to get on my nerves too much.”

Having said that, I couldn’t turn my back on this no matter how anxious I was. I’d accepted the job, and so I had to apply the full amount of effort. I had been taught better than to give in as soon as I sensed a hint of unpleasantness.

“Good evening.” I spoke my message out loud slowly and clearly as I typed it. “I would like to meet with you. Could I ask you to come to Aki-san’s apartment? Which time and date out of the following is convenient?”

I suddenly realized something. I would be going to Ooboshi-kun’s place?! Otoi-san had said I should hold any in-person meetings there, which had registered to me as completely normal at the time.

But it was his apartment, not an office; the remnants of his life would be there. I would be able to see his belongings, smell his scent, and all sorts of other things. It was my opportunity to learn even more about him.

“No! What am I thinking?!”

I flung my phone onto the bed. It bounced off my light green bedding, a color chosen for its relaxing effect. I then got to my knees and started pounding the duvet to hammer my frustrations home.

“What! Abysmal! Nonsense! Am I! Thinking!”

This was work! Ooboshi-kun wasn’t even home. For me to become so deluded and excitable over his traces was just perverse! I needed to calm down! I needed to stay righteous!

I was out of breath and exhausted by the time I’d finished raging, but I also felt oddly satisfied. My red-hot brain had cooled, and now my mind was growing calm. I’d heard boys discussing something dirty called “post-nut clarity,” and I had to wonder if this was something similar.

Whatever. I was calm now, and that meant I could focus on work. With my cheek still resting on the bed, I languidly reached out for my phone.

“Anyone who saw that just now would think I’m a complete weirdo,” I murmured to myself, swiping over the screen. “I’ve been like this ever since I met Ooboshi-kun. It’s awful.”

I was grumbling to no one in particular. There wasn’t even any meaning or point to what I said. I might as well not have spoken at all.

Kageishi Sumire’s Side

Hello. Kageishi Sumire here. I’m a math teacher at Kouzai High School, and homeroom teacher to Aki (full name Ooboshi Akiteru). The kids fear me as some sort of demon—they call me the “Venomous Queen”—but I take my work very seriously. My students have high grades across the board, and my colleagues think highly of the effort I put in and the results I get. I guess you could say I’m doing pretty well.

But I had a secret. One that the school could not find out about. My activities as an artist by the pen name Murasaki Shikibu-sensei. I used to sell doujinshi with moderate success. They were all along a similar theme of relationships between young boys and older women, namely their predatory teachers.

And yes, they were explicit. Right now, I was working as the 05th Floor Alliance’s main illustrator on Koyagi: When They Cry.

The school forbade teachers from having a second job. And I’d totally lose all the trust I’d built up if it was found out that I used to produce works involving grown women sexualizing young boys. It’d spark a witch trial which’d end up with me burned at the stake and dead—socially speaking.

As all otaku were aware, there is such a thing as freedom of expression and art, and I shuddered to think that what I produced could be interpreted as my real sexual preferences, but I doubted that would fly with the stubborn, decrepit skeletons sitting on the Board of Education.

Basically, I had to defend my secret with my life, at least until I wasn’t working as a teacher anymore.

If my inner monologue is sounding a little formal to you, there’s a good reason for that. It’s because I am currently in very, very deep shit. I have been mentally on my knees and praying for divine forgiveness for the past twenty-four hours. Because there was someone else, separate from the school administration, who couldn’t learn about my alter ego.

Her name was Kageishi Midori. Midori-chan. My one and only little sister. The adorable teenage girl who’d idolized me since she was very young. She didn’t know my true identity yet, because I’d lived my life hiding it from my family too; they would’ve gotten mad if they found out. It was a good thing we were so far apart in age, because it meant I’d been able to get away with not telling her my address or letting my family interfere with my private life.

Until now...

“Why the heck is Midori-chan acting as the Alliance receptionist?!”

I was in the parking lot of our apartment building, and the sky was turning red. I’d only just gotten home from school, and I was now screaming about what had happened just minutes after that, with my forehead smashed into the steering wheel.

I loved being in my car. You could turn the music up to full blast, and it wouldn’t get past the soundproof windows, so you could have a total breakdown without anyone outside noticing.

“Aki leaves for a few days and now I’m facin’ a complete trainwreck! You are toast when you get back!” I spewed curses at our dear leader, my gaze as dark and ghastly as the night.

Then I glanced at my phone screen. On it was a LIME chat between Midori-chan and my Murasaki Shikibu-sensei account (which was separate from the one I contacted my family with). Her first contact had come to me via email, but then she quickly suggested we switch to LIME, probably because she thought it would be a better avenue to discuss details through.

That’s an honor student for you, perceptive as they come. She must’ve instinctively figured out my habit of leaving emails unread.

“I really messed up too...”

I was so scared of Midori-chan finding out who I was that I turned down her very reasonable offer to meet. And now it seemed she was super suspicious of me. And then I ended up yielding and saying I would meet after all, because it was too easy to miss nuances when you were only communicating through text.

I should’ve just agreed in the first place... It would have meant she didn’t end up with my LIME account details.

But it was no use crying over spilled milk. Unless you were the protagonist in a manga with a lactation tag, heh heh... Urgh. That wasn’t even funny. All that time spent at university building up a base of dirty references, and I still wasn’t that good at using them. Don’t I just feel pathetic?

“Get it together, Kageishi Sumire!” I slapped my cheeks and forced my eyes to open as wide as they’d go. Steeling my resolve, I stepped out of the car.

Then I went up to the fifth floor, keeping my guard up to make sure I didn’t run into Midori-chan on the way.

Obviously I took the stairs. I wasn’t about to fall into the clichéd trap of the elevator doors opening only to see her right there.

I wished the heels I wore to work hadn’t been so loud, though. As the Venomous Queen, I couldn’t go without them, but they made using stairs a pain in the ass. I kept my Midori-chan radar active through the tears as I made my way to the fifth floor and to my apartment. I unlocked the door and slipped through, lightning quick.

I sighed with relief. “Okay, I made it without a wild encounter. Now I just need to get ready...”

I peeled off my suit and tossed it to one side along with my bag before rushing over to my closet. There was a set of simple shelves I used in place of a chest of drawers. I chose a plain sweatsuit from there and put it on.

Next, I dashed to the washbasin and vigorously scrubbed off my makeup. The flawless face of a gorgeous teacher (if I do say so myself) melted away before my eyes. I then used makeup to darken my complexion and make me look like an unsociable nerd who never left her apartment.

Finally, I briskly tugged open the mirrored cabinet above my washstand and rooted through the collection of glasses I kept there, at last selecting the strongest, heaviest pair I could find.

I studied myself in the mirror. Yup, I looked just like a nerd from the eighties. Or even a geek from the nineties. I was Murasaki Shikibu-sensei, mega form. There wasn’t a hint of Kageishi Sumire or her perfect beauty to be seen.

“Not even Midori-chan’s gonna be seeing through this disguise... Let’s do this!”

***

“Hello, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei. I know I told you this in my email, but please allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Kageishi Midori, and the Alliance’s temporary leader, Otoi-san, has asked me to conduct this business on her behalf. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“S-Same here...” I mean, it had been a pleasure when we had actually met. Seventeen years ago.

“Incidentally, you’re twelve minutes late.”

“I-I needed time to prepare!” I stuttered. “C-Can you blame me?!”

I’d all but burst into Aki’s apartment. Midori-chan had been sitting at the kitchen table with one leg folded over the other, giving off major secretary vibes even though she was in her school uniform. Her tone and gaze were so icy they had me shivering! That look made me feel like she’d already figured everything out.

I was too terrified to look at her straight.

“I won’t press the matter, because that in itself is a waste of time,” she said. “So please, have a seat.”

“Thank you...” I quickly sat down across from her. I kept my legs together and placed my hands on my lap, keeping myself as small as if I were a college student at her first job interview.

“I was thinking we could get started immediately.”

“Sounds good...”

“Just to recap, in order to develop the console version of Koyagi: When They Cry, we need to create 3D assets. The most popular characters from the mobile version will become regulars in the cast, and the protagonists will remain in their roles. That makes fifteen characters in total. We also want around ten villains, specifically—again—the most popular from the mobile version. These twenty-five characters will be graphically represented at the highest quality, while side characters and NPCs can be created to a slightly lower standard.”

“Got it. Um, so what do I need to do?”

“I need you to come up with three-point turnarounds for these twenty-five characters.”

“Turnarounds?!”

She was basically asking me to draw each character from the front, side, and back. Usually, I only drew them in 2D, by which I mean from a fixed perspective. Of course, I had a proper image in my head of what they looked like from various angles, the layers of their clothing, etc.

It was just that I’d never had to share that information with other people, so I’d never produced any turnarounds before.

Things were different now that we were transitioning to 3D. When the camera showed the character from the side, there couldn’t just be a void there. You needed a model, something with perceptible detail no matter which angle you looked from.

And as the character designer, I couldn’t just leave the graphics team to fill in the gaps. I needed to create a turnaround so that they knew how each character was supposed to look from those different perspectives.

Speaking honestly, I could have a single turnaround whipped up no problem. But twenty-five?

“Uh, when do you need them by?” I asked.

“I’d like them in three days.”

“Three days?!”

Satan, is that you?

“That is not gonna be possible!” I cried. “You’re underestimating how long this stuff takes!”

“Oh, am I? I apologize. I studied the data relating to your speed of work, and concluded that one turnaround should take you about an hour. If you were to work eight hours for three days, plus one hour overtime, that means you should be able to come up with twenty-five turnarounds.”

“How come you just assume I can draw eight hours a day? I’d be dead if I had to come home from work and do an extra eight hours on top of that forever!”

“‘Work’? I beg your pardon? I thought you were a full-time artist.”

“Ah.”

Panicking, I pressed my lips together. Midori-chan didn’t realize my art was a side gig. No wonder she thought eight hours a day was reasonable.

“Or do you have a second occupation?” she asked.

“Oh, uh...I mean, yeah...”

“So you work two jobs? In that case, could I ask at what times you’re busy, and what the nature of this other job is? I want to calculate a reasonable workload for you.”

“Guh...”

I had no idea what to say. Midori-chan’s clear, unwavering gaze was locked on me. I was confident my uber-thick glasses were impenetrable enough to protect my identity—unless I gave her one tiny clue too many. It’d be like how those amnesiac protagonists regained their memories through events and conversations with the heroine that otherwise seemed totally insignificant. It didn’t take much for the missing pieces to fall into place.

“Say, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei, you resemble my sister. Wait, you are my sister!”

The realization could come to her right out of nowhere! If I told Midori-chan what I did for my day job, her 300 IQ would lead her straight to the truth. But if she carried on thinking art was my main career, I’d have to work so many hours that I’d straight up collapse! What the hell was I s’posed to do?!

“Murasaki Shikibu-sensei?”

“Wah! Sorry, Midori-chan! I was kinda lost in thought.”

“‘Midori-chan’?”

“Wait, you’ve got me all wrong! It’s my artist’s brain... It uses ‘chan’ for any cute and sexy girl!”

“Wh— How dare you?! Have you been mentally violating me?! You’ve been thinking of me as a sexual punching bag, haven’t you?! Covered in fluids and surrounded by goblins or orcs!”

“No, I haven’t! And it sounds to me like you’re the one with the dirty mind!”

She was as straitlaced as the leader of a disciplinary committee. Where the hell had she picked up the sort of knowledge you could only find in a dirty doujinshi?

I cleared my throat. “Um, we were talking about my work?”

“Oh yes, we were! So what is your second job?” Midori-chan asked.

“Y’know. I work a full-time shift as a convenience store part-time clerk.”

“Which store specifically? I’d like to include your commute time in my calculations.”

“I was lying... I’m a full-time artist... No more questions... Please.” I slammed my forehead onto the table as a show of apology. I’d end up with my back against the wall if she kept asking for specifics like this. I didn’t want to end up strangled by a pack of lies.

Midori-chan let out an exasperated sigh. “You lied to decrease your workload. I always thought such lazy adults were the stuff of fiction.”

“Gnnngh... If I had any counterarguments, you’d have heard them by now!”

“You have three days. Any objections?”

“Only that you haven’t factored any breaks into those eight-hour days...”

“Speak up. If you do have any objections, I’d like to hear them clearly.”

“Ma’am! No objections, ma’am!”

“That’s a relief,” she said, sighing.

Kageishi Sumire. The woman who gives a hearty salute while her heart floods with tears.

Midori-chan hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d been tasked with this massive responsibility out of nowhere, thrust into a world she had little knowledge of. There was a lot of stuff you couldn’t know unless you worked as an artist, like how you needed time to think and plan before each drawing, or a cooldown period afterward.

Just because it was common sense to me didn’t mean I could expect her to magically know it all. I was the adult here. I was the one who had to take all of this on the chin. Yes. I couldn’t be wrong about that.

“By the way, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei.”

“Y-Yes?!”

“I’ve been wondering about this for a while. I know we met when the Alliance lent a hand to the drama club, but have we ever met anywhere before then? Something about you seems vaguely familiar.”

“Of course we’ve never met!” I screamed.

“Yes, I suppose we can’t have. I’m not the type of person to have crossed paths with someone like you.”

“Right?! N-Now, you know it’s not respectful to tease your elders! Aha ha ha!” I laughed dryly. I couldn’t stop laughing dryly.

How long was I supposed to be working with Midori-chan anyway? There was no way she’d stay blind to my true identity.

Aki! I’m begging you to come home!

***

“This sucks... Why do I have to work under Midori-chan, the scheduling hardass?”

“You were on borrowed time anyway. Now face it like an adult, put your head down, and get to it, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei.”

“I thought I could count on you for a li’l sympathy, Ozuma-kun! Listen, this isn’t just a living hell. This is the worst thing to ever happen in all of history!”

“‘All of history.’ It’s that big a deal, huh?”

“You bet it is! You know how big my tits are, right? Well it’s bigger than that!”

“What is the problem anyway? I’m not interested in your dirty analogies, so just get to the point.”

“The problem...is that I have no time to play the latest Uzamon release now!”

“That’s it, I’m calling the cops.”

“Don’t! Listen, this new one is open world! Everyone’s talking online about how the new characters are opening people’s eyes to fetishes they didn’t even know they had!”

“I’ve heard the story’s pretty good too. A real tearjerker, apparently.”

“Now I just wanna play it more! You’re pure evil!”

Chapter 6: My Senpai Is Absent on this Holy Night

Tsukinomori Mashiro’s Side

I woke up that morning, ate my breakfast, got dressed, and started the final obligation of brushing my teeth. It had been some time since Aki disappeared. A thought struck me out of nowhere, and I went over to the window. I stared out of it, feeling the toothpaste in my mouth froth up into white bubbles.

It was snowing. Which made sense, because it was already December. Our urban Kanto town was no winter wonderland, but it did record a decent amount of snowfall every year.

So I wasn’t surprised to see the carpet of white outside. Winter had arrived without me seeing his face, hearing his voice, or even feeling his presence, and that detestable Christmas Eve was now right around the corner. The snow was piling up, and a chilly fog had descended on the townscape, one that I could see swallowing even the traces of himself he’d left behind.

This was gonna be the year I finally spent it with him... Stupid Aki.

Irritation made me brush my teeth even harder. The bubbles were growing by the second and threatening to spill from my mouth. I hurried back to the bathroom, spat the foam out, and rinsed my mouth. Then I looked at myself in the mirror, lightly rearranged my bangs, and made sure my earrings were sitting properly.

He didn’t even show up for our finals.

He was always in my thoughts. November finished with our end-of-term exams. I was almost certain he’d sit them, because the credits were vital to his grades and the advancement of his academic career.

But he never came. And the finals passed by in the blink of an eye.

Is he planning to repeat the year? Or maybe he took his finals some other way.

Schools could be pretty flexible these days. Sometimes, students were allowed to take tests in places other than the classroom. As a former shut-in myself, I knew all about those kinds of provisions. Though I had barely attended lessons at my last school, I was allowed to take exams, which meant I made it to my second year without having to repeat.

I didn’t know if Kouzai had the same system, but if it did, Aki might have been making use of it.

I thought Ozuma-kun might know something. Turned out I was wrong.

He was Aki’s best friend, but when I had tried to get any info out of him, he had been just as unaware as I was. Though I couldn’t be totally sure, my gut feeling was that Aki really hadn’t told him anything.

I finished my final checks in the mirror and looked at the clock, which showed I still had plenty of time before class started.

Guess I’ll do a little more writing.

So I went back to my room and opened my 2-in-1 laptop. It came to life as soon as I turned on the power. I opened two files: Real - Snow White’s Revenge Classroom Vol 7 and Plan - Snow White’s Revenge Classroom Vol 7. Then, I sat back in my chair and set my mind free.

I had a plan, and that meant I knew what I was going to write. Now I only needed to immerse myself in the world and let the souls of its characters possess me, and the story would write itself.

It was how I’d written since the very start. It was Makigai Namako’s method. Not that I’d ever share it with anyone, of course. I’d only get embarrassed if they thought I was showing off, and then I’d get annoyed. I didn’t think I could explain it very well either.

I didn’t need my method to be understood. I was satisfied to know my method created stories that reached and touched people.

Before I knew it, my fingers were typing. Not just typing, but pounding the keyboard at a breakneck pace. The vibrations from my digits traveled up through my arms to my brain, transforming into the awareness that I was writing.

It was fun. It felt amazing. I couldn’t stop. Just one more line, just one more line. I wanted to weave the dialogue. I wanted to push the world’s time forward, move everything close to its destiny.

“Ah.”

When I came back to my senses, I realized it was time to leave for school. I’d managed to make a lot of progress, despite not writing for very long. It was something I had realized lately: taking advantage of these small breaks in the day to write got me surprisingly far.

Funnily enough, I’d only figured it out after Aki left. I had spent a lot of the time on my walk to school and in the classroom after I’d arrived being restless, thinking I might catch a glimpse of him. I never thought to work on my books during break unless I had a deadline looming over me.

“Better get going...”

I was dressed and ready to step right out the door.

I didn’t need to rush to make it in time, and the school day passed like any other. I wrote on my phone between lessons and during break times. I was too embarrassed to work on my novel where other people might see, so I worked on the character side stories for Koyagi, stuff which didn’t affect the main plot. I needed to immerse myself to some extent to be able to write, but this side content didn’t require as much of that as the feature story, so I didn’t have to dive too deep.

The other day, when I was at UZA Bunko for a meeting about the Snow White anime, I bumped into one of the more experienced authors, who was impressed I could write on my phone. They said they couldn’t imagine working on any device other than their computer. That high schoolers were “something else.”

Thinking back, I had mostly written on my PC when I was a shut-in. I only learned to use my phone when I started at Kouzai. Or rather, after I reunited with Aki. I’d wanted to come up with a way of writing more efficiently so that I could have more time with him, and my phone was what I settled on.

But even when I did start writing on it during breaks, I didn’t experience a massive increase in my productivity. And that was because Aki was always next to me, impossible to ignore. I only achieved maximum focus when I absolutely had to.

“Ironic, huh?” I muttered to myself. I didn’t mean for anyone to overhear me, but Ozuma-kun was nearby, and he seemed to have sharp hearing.

“What is?”

“N-Nothing. I wasn’t talking to you, Ozu.”

I had started calling him that ever since I had opened up about being Makigai Namako. It was closer to his username.

Honestly, I still struggled to talk to anyone other than Aki. That included the rest of the Alliance. It was easy enough online, but real life was another story altogether. That was why I was working hard to improve, and copying the way I talked on LIME made it easier.

“Y’know, if you wanna be Aki’s lover, you gotta get with his friends, right? So it’d probably be a good idea if you were nicer to me.”

“Shut up. I was just thinking out loud and didn’t need you barging in.”

“Thinking out loud about Aki, right?”

“I mean, yeah...”

“Then lemme share in your depression. I might look fine, but his absence is hitting me pretty hard too.”

“You’re right about that. You don’t look upset in the least,” I said.

“How am I s’posed to look, then? Without Aki around, I’m at a total loss...”

“Weirdo.”

Kohinata Ozuma was a total robot. He always had been.

“So, what’s ironic?” he asked with his usual friendly smile. Even though I couldn’t read his emotions, he was obviously curious about what I’d been thinking.

Though I didn’t really want to open up about it, I also didn’t feel like I had much of a choice. I had come to a realization about my work ethic these past few days.

“Aki’s a stickler for efficiency. But now that he’s gone, I’ve been working way more efficiently. That’s what’s ironic.”

None of it was Aki’s fault, of course. It was mine. I was the one who got lovesick, I was the one who let myself get carried away, and I was the one who let it affect my work. That was why the realization made me roll my eyes at myself. My words had meant to be a knife of self-loathing to stab myself in the chest with.

But Ozuma-kun just blinked at me like I was speaking another language.

“Huh? But that makes perfect sense,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it. “Aki never tried to force us to be efficient.”

“What?” That was the last thing I’d expected him to say.

“You never noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“What I said. Aki’s only ever tweaked his processes when it comes to his own efficiency. When it comes to us, he’s focused more on getting the best quality work possible. He’s never been overly unreasonable or demanding with your manuscripts, right?”

“What about Murasaki Shikibu-sensei? He never gives her a moment of peace.”

“Yeah, but she deserves it.”

“Gotcha.”

“But it’s the same for her,” Ozuma-kun continued. “Aki goes after her because we need those drawings, but in general he’s super hands-off. Like, he’s never commissioned another artist over her even though it’d be more efficient, and he’s never tried to push back against her judgment and risked affecting her work’s quality.”

“You’re right. He could push her even harder to keep to her deadlines and just go with whatever quality output he gets, but he doesn’t.”

“Even though enforcing strict deadlines is kinda his job.” Ozuma-kun chuckled. It wasn’t a critical laugh, but an affectionate one. It told of the close-knit bond between him and Aki, one that usually sat beneath the surface.

I grew embarrassed then. I’d always wanted to understand Aki better than anyone, but I realized I still had a long way to go. I already knew Iroha-chan was my rival when it came to that, but to think Ozuma-kun was leagues ahead of me too. Who did I think I was, spending all that time as his fake girlfriend?

But Ozuma-kun was totally right about Aki. He went on and on about efficiency, but he bore the brunt of accelerating things all by himself. When it came to me, Ozuma-kun, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei, Iroha-chan—his team—he was always careful to give us as much time as possible. Why did he insist on taking the hit for us?

I must have asked my question out loud.

“Yeah, I’ve wondered the same thing,” Ozuma-kun said. “It’s because he’s got an unusually low opinion of himself. He seriously thinks he’s got to go ham with the efficiency thing or he doesn’t deserve to work with us.”

“Is he stupid?”

“Uh-huh. Sorry to say it, but our leader’s a dumbass.”

“So did he vanish because of his low self-esteem too? And he’s off improving himself somewhere?”

“Probably, since it sounds like he plans to come back.”

The sigh I let out was one for the record books. My self-esteem wasn’t great either, so I knew how Aki felt. But we all loved him just as he was, and it was crazy he couldn’t see that. Maybe I should imprison him and force him to understand. Physically.

I didn’t mean that, obviously. Even I wouldn’t go to such lengths.

Probably not, anyway...

“So basically, your lovestruck brain has been giving you a debuff till now, but you’ve finally got your original writing speed back.”

“L-Lovestruck?! I wouldn’t say—”

“You’re not really gonna deny it at this point, are you? That’s like a celebrity publicly denying they had an affair when there’s literally a voice clip that proves it.”

“Ozu, you’re super quick with those dark references. But you suck in Japanese language class.”

“I’m getting there somehow, little by little. It’s nice to be able to better blend into society.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna be blending into anything unless you use those language skills for something other than witty comebacks.”

“You can give me some credit, y’know. I speak our language way better than some of the people you see on social media, right?”

“Can’t argue with that...”

The world could get so spiteful that his dark joke was almost cute in comparison.

“Anyway, Aki’s disappearance has forced us to change, for better or worse. He’s left us with a coefficient, and it’s up to us whether we put a positive or a negative factor in front of it.”

“Come again?”

Ozuma-kun paused. “Y’know, I think you could stand to put a little more effort into math class.”

I ignored my sulking classmate and turned my gaze out the window. It’s up to us whether we turn Aki’s disappearance into a positive or a negative, huh?

We could throw tantrums all we wanted, but it wouldn’t bring him back. We were better off putting our energy into what was in front of us. This was my chance to cleanse my Aki-obsessed mind and develop my skills as a writer, so when he did come back I would be twice—no, three times—as capable as he remembered.

I would work harder than I ever had.

***

The last class of the day finished. I tapped my foot on the floor impatiently and swayed my knees from side to side as I watched our Japanese teacher erase the blackboard and leave. Only I heard the clicking of my slipper heel. There was another set of heels, a regular clack, clack, clack approaching from the hallway outside. The rhythm seemed to match up with the one I was tapping out.

The door slid open with a clatter.

“Time for homeroom,” Shikibu announced. There was a sternness to her expression that you’d never see from the lazy, pathetic artist of the 05th Floor Alliance. The sadistic Venomous Queen stood behind the teacher’s platform and slammed the desk in front of her. “Your finals results should have started coming back to you already. So how are my repulsive little insects feeling about that? I daresay a lot of you have had to come to terms with your true worth.”

Our homeroom teacher was giving us a strict, poison-soaked tongue-lashing. I could already see where this was going. The bright kid would get stubborn and argue back. The honor student would shrink in on themselves and wait for the storm to pass. The clever sage was used to all this and would just let it wash over them, listening with a serious expression.

Ozuma-kun and I were the only people in this classroom who knew what Murasaki Shikibu-sensei was really like. It gave us zero reason to fear her at all, and yet all the other students couldn’t stop themselves from sitting up straight.

“The winter of your second year in high school is a battleground. The soft-headed among you who think they can wait till their third year to study for their entrance exams are the ones doomed to stumble and fall. Every day, every minute, every second is bringing you closer. Take these exams seriously; take the lead over your rivals. ‘I’m the one. I’m going to pass. I’ll do it by my own strength. Everyone else can rot.’ You can’t possibly enter one of the world’s top universities unless you’re the world’s biggest egotist.”

Wasn’t there a recent anime adaptation for a soccer manga with that exact line?

Either way, her speech was way too long. My foot was tapping, my knee was swaying, and now I was even rapping my fingers on the desk. What was Murasaki Shikibu-sensei thinking? I really just wanted to get home and start working. It was like she was trying to drag out the school day for as long as she could. Maybe she didn’t want to go home. Was she trying to avoid her work?

I guess it didn’t really matter what she was up to. I stared at her. She seemed to notice, because she glanced at me. I sent her a threatening message through my eyes.

Finish up. Quickly.

A terrified look crossed her face for a split second. It was too brief for anyone else to have noticed. Still, she kept up the Venomous Queen act.

“That’s all for today! We won’t bother with the bow. Class dismissed.”

She abruptly cut herself off and left the classroom as elegantly as anything. To the other students, she looked like an efficient and capable woman who didn’t want to waste any more time. To me, she looked like she was running away.

That’s right. That’s perfect, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei.

I smiled to myself, satisfied to see homeroom cut off early. Cut off. Like how we’d been cut off from Aki’s life. It was like I’d given myself a punch to the gut. Still smarting, I stood up and hurried from the classroom.

I made it home. As I was taking off my shoes at the entrance to the apartment, I marveled at how short the walk actually was. Back when I still dragged my feet, it felt way longer.

I loosened my tie as I walked down the hallway to my room, where I tossed my bag and phone onto the bed, then went right into changing out of my uniform. Removing each piece of clothing used to feel like a huge chore right after my shut-in phase, but it went more smoothly now after several months of getting used to it.

My blazer, tie, and skirt went on a hanger and got sprayed with freshener. I turned on my laptop, then went into the bathroom and tossed my shirt into the washer. I was now half naked and cold, obviously, so I grabbed some fluffy loungewear from the basket next to me and pulled it over my head. Nice and warm again. After that, I made some tea in the kitchen and took it back to my room to complete my recently established homecoming routine.

Well, not quite.

I sipped the tea as I opened up my email on my laptop, which had booted up without incident. Even with the popularity of LIME and other messaging apps, business communication with the editorial department was still done via email. Last-minute casual stuff, irrelevant chatter, and deadline reminders came through my phone, but all the important stuff was communicated officially through email.

I had one from Canary-san. I could already guess what it was about: she needed my okay about something relating to the Snow White anime. There’d be character designs or a script attached, and as the original author, it was my job to make sure there weren’t any problems. It had been a smooth process so far, so it’d probably be something I could check quickly and give a swift reply on. I opened the email with zero expectations.

I spat out my tea. Then I panicked.

“My laptop!” I cried, frantically wiping away the mess I made.

I couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting my laptop and the area around it dirty, but even worse than that— Okay, so that’s a contradiction, but ignore that for now.

Even worse than that was what I was reading in this email.

Sender: Kiraboshi Kanaria

Subject: Snow White’s Revenge Classroom Anime Series: Composition Enquiry

Dear Makigai Namako-sama,

Thank you for your continued hard work. This is Kiraboshi Kanaria of UZA Bunko’s editorial department. This email concerns urgent matters that I would like to resolve with you as soon as possible.

The anime production team has asked for your consideration on the following points:

About the protagonist’s lines and psychology: They would like to tone down the intense line spoken when the protagonist decides to enact revenge against the bullies. In particular, the line containing the f-word.

The protagonist’s trauma is relived at almost every hurdle, with several scenes centering on internal conflict. The team would like to cut the bulk of these.

The team would like to tone down the scene in which the actual revenge takes place and the bullies are killed. Would it be possible to keep the bullies alive?

These are the general points they would like to discuss.

It is my opinion that making the above changes would damage the intention of the original work, and so I would like to reject them. However, they are unlikely to back down easily (especially in the case of the f-word, which they might push back against with an argument about broadcasting ethics—an argument I would struggle to win). It’s difficult to say how much they will be willing to compromise.

I’d like to hear your thoughts first. If you’d like to reject the suggestions, then I will do everything in my power to push back. If you aren’t sure how to respond in text and would like some advice, then feel free to call me at any time. I’m very sorry that we need to be having these kinds of discussions.

Thank you in advance for your consideration.

I could feel Canary-san’s concern for me oozing from every sentence. She never failed to impress me. She had presented the anime team’s arguments as they were, wording everything in a way that avoided igniting my temper. Sorry to say, but I was selfish, and that meant I’d be putting her efforts to waste. My brain saw beyond her email, transforming it into the original message, written by whoever she was liaising with:

“The protagonist is too much of a victim, too negative and creepy, and needs sanitizing.”

That was the intent behind these changes. I just knew it. I was plenty tuned in to the internet. I knew the kind of hate works similar to Snow White got. It was stuff like this:

“The parts with the bullying are way too graphic lol that’s gotta be based on the author’s irl experience lmao”

When I first saw that, I could imagine the same comments being made about my work. I never imagined the anime production staff would beat the audience to the punch, though. I guess it was inevitable either way.

“What now?” I fell back onto my bed and stared up at the ceiling.

I reached for my phone, which was lying right by my face. When I unlocked it, I was greeted by my LIME call log with Canary-san. She must’ve tried to call me after sending the email, thinking it was best to discuss this over the phone.

Common sense meant I always turned off my notifications when I was at school so that my phone didn’t go off or even vibrate. But it meant I’d missed her attempts to contact me.

I tapped my screen to respond to her—but then I froze. What was I supposed to say? Should I take the mature route? Or should I stick to how I really felt? Canary-san’s email gave the impression she would back me up, but could I trust her on that? Maybe she only wanted to pacify me and would prefer we sort this whole mess out without making waves.

And why wouldn’t she? Even if she was playing a character, this was still her job.

Yeah, I was certain now. If she wanted to push back against this stuff, she would’ve done it without sending me an email first. She was checking in with me because it was the polite thing to do, but she would rather not rock the boat. Asking her to fight my corner would probably just put her in a tricky spot.

No. No, I was being dumb.

So what if they thought my character was creepy? So what if they thought most people would struggle to relate? This story—at the time I was writing it—was my fragile soul crying out. I wanted it to speak to people, but I didn’t want to tailor it for that purpose.

That cry of mine, still in its rawest form, only had to reach someone who could appreciate it to offer a small comfort to the girl I was then. That was the essence of my story.

I might have gotten stronger than I was then, but I wanted to cherish that past version of myself. The one who wrote the first volume of Snow White’s Revenge Classroom. Because it was that sensitive girl who’d fallen in love with Aki.

Makigai Namako’s work had resonated with him and turned him into a fan. I wanted to do this for him too. And for the girl who wrote it, who had had nothing else to cling to but her story, even though she wasn’t around anymore.

I couldn’t back down.

No. Nothing’s getting toned down or cut.

A short message, but it contained all my resolve. I sent it to Canary-san’s LIME.

It was done, and I couldn’t take it back. I didn’t want to take it back. I didn’t care if it damaged my relationship with Canary-san or if the anime staff didn’t like it. I was going to walk the path of most resistance.

Kohinata Iroha’s Side

It’d been a while since Senpai left his cute little kouhai all alone. The school day was done, and Sasara was grinning at me and saying she wanted to go to a photobooth. I turned her down with a line so basic it’s not even worth noting here, then left the classroom.

She whined at me about being rude to her, not putting enough effort into maintaining the friendship when she was my best friend, and how her heart was breaking. I let it go in one ear and out the other as I hurried for the elevator. I sent Sasara a silent apology that I wasn’t able to act like an idiot with her today.

School’s done! Sorry to keep you waiting.

With that LIME message sent, I pulled off my slippers and changed to my regular shoes before rushing for the school gate. Weaving through the students on their way home, I dodged into a side road. There was a luxury car there, painted all black, that totally didn’t belong in the basic residential area around the school.

When I stepped up to it, the back window slid down to reveal the woman behind it.

“Bon afternoon, Iroha-chan.”

“Hi, Mizuki-san! I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

“Non. Exactly time. No problems. Now, ride the car. Ride is the all-ages version.”

“Uh, right. Thank you! Didn’t really get that last part, though.”

The driver pressed a button or something, and the back door opened automatically, giving me a full view of Mizuki-san. Her long, silver-blonde hair was as gorgeous as ever, and her blue eyes sparkled like gems. On top she wore a designer T-shirt that looked kinda casual—but only at first glance. On the bottom she wore skinny jeans that emphasized her tight waist and long legs. Her beauty really was flawless.

It sounded cliché, but there was no other way to describe the woman right in front of me. She was Tsukinomori Mizuki: a major Broadway star, Mashiro-senpai’s mom, and my mentor.

Her style was subtly different from when we’d met in Kyoto. Maybe the clothes she’d worn then were her best, and she usually preferred to dress more casually. She looked awesome and gorgeous either way, of course!

As a first-rate professional actress, she even had a totally different aura than me and you. I was floored and jealous at the same time!

“What’s wrong?” Mizuki-san asked. “Your first experience riding the car, and you’re nervous? Then I will teach you the technique. Give you the instruction.”

“Ah, I’m getting in! Sorry, I totally spaced out! And please don’t teach me anything weird!” I bundled myself into the car in a panic. I didn’t know if Mizuki-san was getting her Japanese mixed up or if she was really planning to educate me in something super sketchy. Either was possible. She was a tightly closed book.

The car barely made a noise as it set off. We were heading for the station, toward an inconspicuous building tucked away in a narrow road that sat behind the shopping street there. Apparently, it was a studio owned by Tenchido’s favorite audio production company.

We sat in silence for a while. After passing through a few traffic lights, Mizuki-san turned to me with a suggestive smile. “Anyway, Amachi-san’s changing heart is surprising. It shatters the Earth. She went sour in Kyoto, then I panicked and was ready for seppuku. I almost arranged a hearse.”

“Aha ha ha, I can’t believe it either, though I think you’re exaggerating a bit with the whole seppuku thing...”

“I was going to use a hidden card if she was stubborn and didn’t accept.”

“What hidden card?”

“A very big and thick pounding thing to make her pant and brainwash her.”

“Uh, you’re doing what to my mom now?”

Mizuki-san seemed surprised at my reaction. “Oh. I learned from Japanese culture that it’s the thing to quickly change the heart of a Japanese wife with big breasts.”

“By culture, you mean a dirty manga, right?! That’s not a worldview you wanna be transferring into real life!”

“Dirty manga? What is dirty manga?”

“Wh...”

“I know dirty. A forbidden world if you’re not fulfilling eighteen years old. Why does this word come from your mouth? Are you leaking?”

“Um, uh... Mizuki-san? What’s going on? Imagine an author of this scene having fun toeing the line by doing a Cossack dance over it, only for you to come in and strike them down with pure logic! You’re like a conveyor belt of inappropriate lines, shielded behind an unfamiliarity with the Japanese language, but you wanna trip me up with the phrase ‘dirty manga’? It doesn’t make sense!”

“Iroha-chan...you are in puberty. I understand you have an absorbing interest in sex. But that thing is too early for you. I encourage restraint, discipline,” Mizuki-san said.

“Oh my god! Spoken like a true mom!”

And then there was the way she was holding a disapproving finger up and had this scolding look on her face. But wait, she was the one using the word “pounding” and talking about brainwashing, and now she wanted to tell me off for saying something as inoffensive as “dirty manga.”

“Then what about the stuff you said just now?” I asked. “I seriously can’t imagine it coming from anything except a dirty manga!”

“It was a Japanese TV drama.”

“They have those themes in dramas now?!”

I was so blown away that I could drop dead. I never watched any TV because of mom’s policies, so the truth was I didn’t really know how extreme dramas could get. With public broadcasting, I doubted there’d be a lot of skin on display, but maybe just saying those kinds of words wasn’t such a big deal...

“Um, but, y’know...the actual pounding part isn’t gonna be shown, right?” I asked.

“I see it often. A lot.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. For example, a fighting scene. The thick hand pounds into the opponent’s face. Bam, bam! It sounds like this.”

“Oh, right! Fighting, so... Wait. Huh?” This was one of those, wasn’t it? A comical misunderstanding that went on for a whole skit. “You’re talking about a slap?”

“Oui. Talking about a slap only. From starting to end. Till my dying breath.”

“I think you’re gonna want to talk about something else before then, at least,” I shot back, before turning to look behind me. That way, she couldn’t see my face. Y’know, because it was up in flames.

I swear I’ve never been so embarrassed! I’m your textbook classic heroine! I’m not s’posed to get wrapped up in dirty talk by accident!

“Looking at the Japanese drama, one slap wavers an intention. You can look however, but it’s brainwashing.”

“Yeah... I guess it would seem that way if the plot’s not very tight.”

Now it all made sense. It’d been an all-ages conversation topic after all. Mizuki-san’s use of Japanese could be questionable a lot of the time, but maybe she was sensible at the heart of it all.

Wait.

“You said something about making her pant. Where does that part happen in dramas?”

“Sorry, we are in the conversation, but it’s almost arrival time,” she said.

“Hey, you’re right.”

Our chat may have been totally pointless, but the car had kept on moving. I could see the building that I’d been visiting regularly lately.

“Please don’t change the subject,” I said. “The panting—”

“Tenchido contacts are very impressive. I’m grateful to be introduced to a good facility. It’s useful and helpful.”

No matter how I tried to bring the topic back, she’d deflect the ball again. She forced the truth behind her relationship with dirty manga out of the court with an intense slice that added a backspin to it. It was her Mizuki Phantom technique. And so, that truth remained buried in the darkness.

***

“Aaah. Yes, yes, Kohinata-san and Mizuki-san. We’ve been expecting you!”

“You know me, Fukura-san!” I replied, cheery. “I’m raring to go!”

After we had arrived at the recording studio, the sound director had come down to welcome us, and I greeted her with my best honor-student smile.

Fukura-san’s own smile never faded, and she was as plump as one of the Seven Lucky Gods. She made sure the waiting room was always stocked with plenty of sweet snacks. Though she was a creative type, she didn’t give off that impression much. She was more like the grandma mascot of a cookie brand, always there to reassure you.

“Come right this way!” she said.

“Yes, ma’am!” I paused. “Wait, are we not in Studio 2 today?”

“No, we’re in 5 today. We need different equipment,” Fukura-san replied, cheerful.

She took me down to the basement level and opened the soundproofed door labeled “Studio 5.” There were a few recording studios in the building. They were all “Studio” followed by a number. I’d had several lessons up till now, and we’d usually use Studio 2. It was sizable enough to fit a few adults for recording anime voicework, which meant I’d been able to polish my voice skills under Mizuki-san’s instruction.

As for Studio 5... Well, it was a kinda tight squeeze. Enough for just one person to fit in the booth. It was a simple space with nothing but a computer, a monitor, a mic, and headphones.

“I’ve set this up just as Amachi-san asked,” Fukura-san explained. “Are you in the loop, Mizuki-san?”

“Oui. An interesting test. I’m deeply interested and optimistic.”

“Then let’s get started.” Fukura-san switched on the computer.

They were brimming with excitement, but all I could do was stare blankly at the monitor as the director fiddled with the settings. I had no idea what the plan was here.

What’s she doing there? Why’s she bringing up an animated 2D character on the screen? A moment later, I realized I recognized what this was. It was a hot topic among the guys in class, and I was pretty sure Senpai and Murasaki Shikibu-sensei would say it was trending right now.

Fukura-san turned to me with a snappy thumbs-up. “Here you are, Kohinata-san! It’s morphin’ time!”

“Did you mean to make that reference?! Could you explain?”

“Basically, you’re going to be the ‘soul’ inhabiting this avatar: Mega Nuisance-chan!”

“Wait. So what you’re saying is...”

A unique name written in katakana. The smoothly animated character herself looked like she lived in a fantasy world, the accessories on her hair and outfit like nothing I’d ever seen before. And Fukura-san wanted me to be her “soul”? There was just one thing this could all mean.

“You want me to be a VTuber?!”

“Yup! By special request of Amachi-san!”

I wanted to be like, “Are you serious?!” but I turned to Mizuki-san instead.

“It is serious. For real,” she said.

“Um, but I’m supposed to be training in acting, right? I know VTubers have been involved in voicework stuff lately, but I don’t think streaming is really relevant to me...”

I mean, it probably was relevant in the sense I’d be giving this character a voice and soul. But as far as I understood, the spontaneity and emotional expressiveness that streamers needed only resembled acting on a superficial level.

“Non. We cannot rush this talk.” Mizuki-san put a finger in front of her lips and wagged it at me like she was forestalling my questions. “Just doing streaming is not a plus for acting. Therefore the details, the real thing, is from now.”

“The ‘real thing’?”

“Aaah. Yes, yes, I’ve shown you Nuisance-chan’s model. So now let me show you the next one,” Fukura-san said.

“Huh?”

A few clicks of the mouse, and a gorgeous, dark-haired girl dressed in a kimono appeared on-screen. “This is Gokkokutenkuugasaki Karume. She’s your genuine Yamato-Nadeshiko-slash-older-sister type and the complete opposite of Nuisance-chan—a bratty isekai witch. A totally different character for you to inhabit.”

“That’s, uh, quite a name!” I exclaimed.

“Not for a VTuber. Now, the next one...”

“There’s more?!”

“Only one more. Aaah, yes, yes, this one. See?”

I did see: a calm and collected beauty with animal ears.

“The wolf-girl and lone wolf: Growly Gabrielle-chan. Amachi-san’s told us she’s cool and a bit of a downer. Someone who thinks of life as a drag.”

“One second,” I said. “When you say you want me to be a VTuber, you mean you want me to control all three characters?”

“Oui!” Mizuki-san was smiling as if it weren’t a totally ridiculous request. She must’ve realized I was waiting for an explanation, because she immediately carried on. “Three months. Do the VTubing perfectly for this time without anyone knowing it’s the same person. It’s the last trial from me and Amachi-san. Of course, the stream contents, bantering, should be lively like all other streamers. And also, give every character the popular unique traits and collect fans.”

“I even have to banter? This is way too crazy!”

“Then, do you give up?” Mizuki-san asked me gravely.

I faltered.

“This is a respectable acting study. Your skill is to trace other people’s lives and reproduce them. In a short time, you have to polish that weapon to its biggest limit. It’s the best curriculum.”

“But people will actually be watching me,” I said.

“Why is this frightening and you get scared? Fool the audience and put them in the world of lies. Is that the wrong essence for our acting job?”

I didn’t reply right away. She didn’t look like she was fooling around. She was serious about assigning this mission to me, and so was mom. I’d been right about the streaming alone not doing much for my skills. Instead, I was being asked to bring to life three different people with very different experiences. To fool hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of people.

“Occasionally, I see on the net people who deny actors who are copying voices. They say voice acting is not just people who can make voices. That part is true, logical. It’s a sniper that hits the target.”

“I’ve seen that a lot in online articles,” I agreed. “And I know I’m doing more than just putting on voices. I’ve spent ages improving my skills with Senpai’s help.”

“Yes. It’s effective to give beginners the advice to copy a voice. For humans who don’t know the basic acting preparations, it’s dangerous only to learn something to look correct. They mistake acting’s true nature. But it’s a different talk if the basics are understood. I am sure that is the exception. I have ill information about voice acting because I’m an amateur. But I understand the acting world.”

Mizuki-san tapped her phone screen a couple times before showing it to me. On it was a picture of a Hollywood actress. One even I could name.

“Sometimes when an actor is preparing a part, they are not just making the emotions or the personality, but starting at the character’s shape. For example, she acted a veteran mercenary. She perfected the body, training, and muscles. To reproduce the life, she shaved the whole head. It’s different from just wearing the costume or doing the makeup. To enter the role, build the outside carefully. If I make it an example in voice acting, I think it’s close to using the different tones for different parts.”

“It’s obvious that an actor has to dig deep for emotion and bring it to the surface. But sometimes it’s also important to perfect the outside. That’s what you’re saying, right?” I asked.

“Oui. But the moment it’s visible, it’s spoiled, the skills are doubted, and people are disappointed. This is a training, a task, to prove your abilities are worth improving.”

“Training... A task...” I repeated those words to myself and clenched my fists. This was no time for me to hesitate! Especially not when I’d already decided to power up while Senpai was away. No matter how tough the challenge, facing it head-on was my only option! “I’ll do it! Throw whatever characters at me you want! I’ll play them all!”

Mizuki-san giggled. “That’s a good sprite! We sail for the waters of technology on a trip to cross the Styx River!”

“Right!” We exchanged a hearty handshake.

Had she meant to say “sprite” or “spirit”? Who knows. I wasn’t about to be rude and make a thing of it. The small stuff could get lost! Sometimes it was important just to go with the flow!

Right now, I was a perpetual acting machine. It felt like I was overflowing with a motivation that could keep me running for hours. And that was just what I needed to do!

***

I guess it’s impossible to be right all of the time.

“I’m so beat,” I said with a yawn. “I can’t go on...”

“Aaah. Yes, yes, good job. You’ve worked really hard today!” Fukura-san said.

I was groggy as anything when I stepped out of the booth. I was staggering like a defeated boxer whose face had been beaten over and over, only for them to fall down and still get pounded on to within an inch of their life. To say I collapsed onto the waiting room couch would be an understatement.

Fukura-san had come in with a basket packed with treats like this was the main event, and she was now unwrapping one.

I bit into the cookie she held in front of my mouth. I was majorly grateful for it. There was something blissful about being fed instead of eating by yourself. I meant it when I said she’d be good at selling cookies. The cookie had the perfect texture—not too moist and not too dry—and as I enjoyed it, Mizuki-san came over, clapping.

“Well done. You made introducing videos for three characters. We were right to count on you.”

I was too weary to say anything but “Thanks.” I then went on to wash the cookie down with Fukura-san’s freshly brewed tea, as comforting as if I were at home.

“You cleared the first checkpoint. It’s very impressive,” Mizuki-san said.

“I couldn’t have done it without having the personalities and the ‘people’ behind them ahead of time. I suck at creating something outta nothing.”

“That’s the work of Amachi-san. A clever and unpleasant strategist.”

“That’s how you see her, huh? I’m surprised.”

The Kohinata Otoha I knew as my mom was a little goofy and a bit ditzy. Personality-wise, and comparing her purely to the people in this studio, she was more similar to Fukura-san than Mizuki-san. Nothing made her happier than idly baking cookies in the afternoon, heading to the store in the evening, then making dinner and watching her kids enjoy it. Her gentle soul was an asset in supporting a warm, loving household.

And I knew all of that from the way she smiled when she was at home.

But she was a totally different person when she stepped outside our front door. Recently, I’d learned all about her work and how the industry perceived her. People described her in all sorts of ways, but they all painted her in a single light: as an empress.

She was as managerial as you could get, making one highly logical decision after another. She wasn’t afraid to come across as cruel if she needed to, never put stuff off despite the objections, and executed every single process like a robotic dictator. It was a quality that Ozuma had inherited, but I hadn’t.

As for why people saw her as an empress, I had a whole host of examples I’d picked up recently. Today was just one of them. Mom hadn’t just organized the VTuber models, she’d gone as far as to figure out the details underpinning the characters behind them.

What sort of person were they? Where were they born? What had they done? What were their values? How did they want their life to be? How did they want their future to be? She’d basically made me an instruction manual answering these questions for each avatar.

Obviously, it was going to take more than that information to stream successfully. My job was to take them as guidelines and decide how to add the soul to them. Like how a ramen chef added to a secret broth recipe, I had a fantastic baseline to work with that I just needed to add my own take to, little by little. It was a vital step.

Mom must have known that I wasn’t good at making something out of nothing, which was why she’d provided me with the basics. And that was despite the fact our professional relationship wasn’t fully established yet. She’d seen what made me tick in the blink of an eye and created the environment in which I could develop most efficiently.

It was crazy logical work. Refined to a T. It really drove home what it meant to be a professional.

“Non. Today’s lesson is finished. The curtain calls. Endless work here and there, always thinking about it, is no good,” Mizuki-san said.

“Ah. Was I spacing out just now?” I asked.

“Oui. You are admiring Amachi-san’s work. I understand. But now let’s think about more fun things.”

“Fun things, huh?” I hesitated. “There hasn’t been much ‘fun’ lately, so I don’t really know what to talk about.”

“What are you speaking?!” Mizuki-san slammed her hand on the waiting room’s wall calendar, her usually calm eyes alight with a passion that demanded the world bow before her. “Christmas! The holy night! Ring, jingle bells!”

“Oh. Uh... Yeah, I guess it is that time of year.”

To be honest, I’d been so busy lately that I almost forgot. Also, it was crazy to expect me to look forward to Christmas when Senpai wasn’t around. Obviously I wasn’t gonna be excited.

“You cannot be bored about Christmas. Explain this!” Mizuki-san demanded.

“If anything, I’m surprised you’re the type to get so hyped about Christmas, Mizuki-san!”

“Oui. Christmas is a holy event, deepening bonds with the family and spending a fun time.”

“Oh right, you take the western view on it.”

I almost forgot, but Mizuki-san had a global heritage. One of her parents was Japanese, and the other was foreign (French, I think). That attitude toward Christmas was probably also a global, worldwide thing.

Does that mean Mashiro-senpai sees it in the same way?

“Oui! Mashiro is coming back to the house too! A party with the family! Woo! It’s an obligation.”

“Sorry, but could you maybe not read my mind, then start yapping like a brainless partygoer whose excitement is through the roof? It’s gonna make my brain glitch.”

“It’s rare to call the whole family. A rare, precious event, and I am looking forward. The ones who never come home, return. It’s valuable.”

“Aha ha ha. I can tell how excited you are.”

I didn’t realize Mashiro-senpai would be spending Christmas with her family. Before all this stuff with the class trip, I’d assumed the whole Alliance would spend the holidays at Senpai’s place and have a total blast together. We were brothers-in-arms: None of us were popular enough to be in a relationship, so we’d band together and have our own fun.

Christmas as a family thing, though? I doubted the Alliance would get together for a party unless Senpai came back soon. I wondered if I’d be having Christmas with mom and Ozuma instead this year.

I mean, I wouldn’t mind. I hadn’t had a ton of opportunities to just sit and relax with them, and I was sure we’d have a good time.

“You have a good and happy Christmas too, Iroha-chan!” Mizuki-san said.

“Ha ha ha. I can’t wait,” I said in a total monotone. I just couldn’t keep up with her hype.

Suddenly, Fukura-san clapped her hands together. “Aaah. Yes, yes, Kohinata-san. I almost forgot about the audition.”

“What audition?” I asked.

“As well as the VTuber test, Amachi-san wanted you to take part in an anime audition. There’s one in the new year, and I was thinking I could get you a spot.”

“Wh— Uh... Th-Thank you!” I bowed my head in a panic.

I didn’t think I’d get a chance like this so soon! I thought I’d have to get through the VTuber thing before moving on to the next step, but it seemed mom wanted me to audition for an anime at the same time. I guess she thought it was more efficient?

“Let’s look toward the performance and make it good!” Mizuki-san said.

“Right! Thank you both so much!”

***

“What?! No drinks with the Alliance this year?!”

“You thought we’d have a party without Aki?”

“I get what you’re saying, but Christmas is one of those rare days I get to drink the alcohol I’ve got stashed at his place!”

“That’s a super looow thing to get upset about.”

“Sigh... It’ll be a lonely Christmas for yours truly this year.”

“There’s gotta be something you can plan, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei. Why don’t you spend it with your doujin friends? Or why don’t you just get yourself a boyfriend you can spend it with?”

“A boyfriend, huh? I wonder if there’s really someone for me out there...”

“Wow. You actually sound like a normal woman your age for once.”

“I can picture him now: my perfect match! He’s 150 centimeters tall, with silver hair, small pupils for that slightly unhinged look, and he acts like a total brat unless he’s with me, and then he shows just a teensy bit of his cute side. That’s what I need! A handsome tsundere shota!”

“I take it back. This is just the usual Shikibu nonsense.”

“I was really hoping to enjoy a side of festive and passionate Ozuaki to soothe my lonely soul too...”

“By the way, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei, how’s that job for Midori-san going?”

“...Yes.”

“Looks like you’re gonna be spending your Christmas with a certain family member too...”

Chapter 7: I’m the Only Kid in a World Full of Adults

Tsukinomori Mashiro’s Side

It was so cold that time and space themselves should have been frozen, but I knew the clock was still ticking because of the endless noises. There were the engines of the vehicles running down the main road, which had too many lanes to count. The construction of buildings and roads going on every few steps. The chatty commercials running at the intersections. I realized how weird it felt not to be able to hear the conversations of people passing by.

I was in the city.

I was heading for the building where UZA Bunko’s editorial department was based, all the while wondering if I was the only person running a mental breakdown of the sounds I could hear.

“I’m going to war...but I’m totally prepared. Grrr...”

I was wearing a black coat, perfectly protecting me against both the cold and anything else I might come up against. My defenses were complete with the combination of sunglasses and a face mask. In my breast pocket I’d concealed a weighty piece of metal, one capable of harvesting lives. Also known as a handgun.

Right now, I was the gang’s disposable pawn on my way to a raid. I’d come to this city ready for a fight, and I wouldn’t back down, beg, or look back.

Obviously, I wasn’t serious. But it was how I felt. The gun was just a model. I’d bought it ages ago to use as a reference. It wasn’t like I’d woken up to the allure of terrorism and had come here for some seriously antisocial behavior.

All I meant to say was that I was here to cause some serious (metaphorical) harm, even if I got myself hurt in the process. The tough talk was a self-affirmation thing to hype myself up.

I was here to present my opinion to the anime production team. And I’d just arrived at my destination. As I looked up at the towering UZA Bunko building, I gripped the handle of my hidden model gun.

Here goes! Time to step onto the battlefield!

Five minutes later and I was in a huge meeting room, the air tauter than a string pulled tight. The business people sitting around the table didn’t help. Most of them were men in their thirties or forties at least, with deep crevices in their faces that told of years of experience. There was a certain majesty to their eyes too, eyes which stared unblinkingly at the invisible pile of riches they hoped to claim.

I wondered if the greed stemmed from the fact I was the least experienced person here. Thinking about how way more established all of these people were than me almost had me suffocating under the pressure. I had been half joking when I said I was coming to carry out a raid, but right now it felt like I really had wandered into a yakuza meeting.

I could all but hear the don, don in my gamer brain as the stylized text appeared beneath each face stating their name, position, and clan. Besides me was Kiraboshi Kanaria, UZA Bunko Editorial Department Captain, and right now she was giving me a subtle poke in the ribs.

She whispered, quiet enough so no one else would hear. “Makigai-sensei, you gotta peck your battles here. These guys have done this a million times over. Get too ahead of yourself, and you might get your wings clipped, chirp.”

“Okay. Got it.” I nodded obediently. But I was planning to be anything but obedient.

“Since everyone’s here, I suggest we get this script meeting underway.”

Don. Gondou Toshimitsu, UZA Bunko’s Licensing Department Patriarch, came the text in my head.

Gondou-san was the point of contact between UZA Bunko and the anime side of things. He was like the CEO of maturity, his eyes sharp and intelligent, but his temperament infinitely polite. Though he looked like he’d never hurt a fly, he was probably terrifying if you got him mad. You know the type.

“Were you able to read the points brought up in the recent email?” he asked.

This was it. I’d strike this whole thing down with the first blow.

“I did. But—”

“But first, um— First, Gondou-san and Mitarai-san, as director and head writer, we’d like to hear your plan for revising the series. We are not talking about changing the original light novels here. The most important thing to consider is whether any changes made are actual improvements.”

“Canary-san?”

Not only had she interrupted me, she’d said a lot. So, was she defending me by putting herself on the firing line? Thinking about it, it might have been that she was trying to stop me from speaking freely. And now I didn’t know whether to trust her or not.

Despite how awesome it’d be if I could just pull the gun out and take a fake shot, the weapon was weighing down my right hand. I didn’t have the physical strength to do anything so flashy.

“Trust me, chicken. Okay?” Canary-san said.

I hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “Okay.”

She looked serious. Her intentions seemed to be good if nothing else.

One of the men Canary-san had addressed knit his thick eyebrows together. “Our plan?”

He was sitting right across from us in the very middle of the people from the anime team. His head was perfectly clean-shaven, and he looked like the kind of guy to eat half a plate of blowfish shabu-shabu with zero hesitation.

“I don’t quite understand, Canary-han. The suggestions don’t have much to do with the writin’ directly. We’re talkin’ about the visuals, how to make them more appealin’. I brought this matter up with you because it’s the polite thing to do, but the truth is that, as the director, the finer details of these visuals are down to me. Right, Negame-han?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. We want to respect the source material, of course, and we do want to retain these scenes, but we believe it’s best to adapt them so that they’re suited to anime. Yes. You have already approved Mitarai-san’s story plan, so there shouldn’t be any issues there. Right, Mitarai-san?”

The final man nodded silently.

Kowamote Ryuugo, Studio AORI Director.

Negame Taiji, Honeyplace Works Producer.

Mitarai Nagashi, Scriptwriter.

Don, don, don! Three separate sound effects and on-screen titles. Yeah, it was just a fantasy, but I gave them their proper positions because if I carried on with yakuza titles, I was just going to get confused.

Negame-san was a thin man who liked to fiddle with his glasses. He was an intellectual, and I could guarantee he’d been an honor student. His mind wasn’t just sharp, but cunning.

Mitarai-san, the head scriptwriter who’d brought up this issue in the first place, was a taciturn type who reminded me of Takakura Ken. There was a grumpy look on his face as he nodded without a word. That said, he did seem a little sympathetic. Maybe because he was a writer too, even if scripts and novels weren’t quite the same thing.

“What we’re discussing here are the inconsistencies in how you’re portraying the protagonist. I don’t think there’s anything more important in developing an IP than keeping the characters consistent,” Canary-san retorted, suppressing her usual chirp.

But she was up against a cunning (figurative) gangster who didn’t even falter.

“Yes. Yes, you’re completely right. Consistency is important. However, replicating the light novel precisely doesn’t necessarily lead to the same experience. If you were to watch the popular Downtime Slayer anime closely, you’d notice that many of the action scenes, for example, differ from the source material, yes? Some of history’s most enduring anime gained a considerable amount of fans after tweaks were made to their protagonist’s lines or values. Quite apart from anything else, Kowamote Ryuugo-san has an abundance of experience and renown as a director, and he is of the opinion that these changes are necessary. I would like to ask that you find it within yourselves to trust us.”

Overwhelmed, Canary-san bit her lip. I wasn’t about to ridicule her for that. In fact, it reminded me of something. Apparently, my dad (CEO of Honeyplace Works) had gotten a hold of the leading anime studio, scraped together as big a budget as possible, and put in tons of effort to make sure Snow White’s Revenge Classroom was a success.

Director Kowamote Ryuugo was a man of artistry, having achieved huge success in the realm of movies with his authentic style, as well as fame abroad. Scriptwriter Mitarai Nagashi had handled a range of anime scripts for more than twenty years, and there was no shortage of those inspired to become authors and scriptwriters because of his stories. Producer Negame created hit after hit in his post at Honeyplace Works’s anime division.

In other words, you’d struggle to find anyone better in the anime industry. They knew everything there was to know about the medium. And they definitely knew way more than I did. These were the people we had to convince. If we couldn’t come up with a good argument, then these negotiations were doomed.

***

The meeting took three hours. In the end, Canary-san wasn’t able to come up with anything to convince the anime team of our position. I explained as best I could too, but it was like being caught in a bottomless swamp. The more we struggled, the deeper we sank. And the more we argued, the more I realized our opinions were based more on emotion than logic. The voice inside me that roared about hitting them hard gradually diminished to nothing but a whisper.

As I became more aware of our inferior position, I got more panicky, and my overheated brain stopped coming up with any actual arguments and just started spouting thoughtless, empty sentiment over and over.

By the end of it all, I couldn’t even argue. I couldn’t even look at the other side.

“In that case, we’ll move forward with the plan to cut down the protagonist’s vengeful monologue and tone down the more disturbing elements. I’d like to thank you all for your time today.”

Gondou-san had brought the meeting to a close with that final remark, and that was that. Not even he was on our side. He was very firmly on their side, even though UZA Bunko was his employer.

Logically, I understood why. His job was to help the anime production run smoothly so everything could air on time. He had to put a tight lid on anything that even threatened to cause confrontation and keep it contained.

Once the meeting was done, the anime staff left as one entity. I didn’t move a single inch. I felt sick to my stomach. It wasn’t that I resented the intimidating adults; I hated myself. This was my own work, and I couldn’t even come up with any arguments to defend it.

The toy gun in my pocket was just that. A toy. But it wouldn’t have mattered even if it were real. It was nothing but junk in the hands of a kid who didn’t have the nerve to shoot or the logic to argue.

“Makigai-sensei? Um...” Canary-san began, feeling awkward.

I stood up without giving her so much as a glance. “I’m gonna go home.”

She’d been my ally. I was grateful to have her, but the fact remained that neither of us had been able to convince the other side. I knew that wasn’t her fault either, but I still couldn’t stand to look at her. Though I wanted to have more grace, there was an ugliness welling up within me, and I felt like any words I spoke now risked cutting through her.

“Y-You came all the way to the city. Here, I’ll treat you to something nice on the department’s budget, chirp. And we can discuss what we want to do for the next meet—”

“No.”

“Makigai-sensei—”

“Don’t worry about it. I know how to compromise.”

“Compromise? You’re giving in? Listen, I know it’s exhausting to keep pushing when these people are so influential in the world of anime. But I think we still have some wiggle room to negotiate, chirp! If we really dig our beaks in and refuse to let go—”

“I’m not a kid, so please don’t treat me like I’m dumb.” With that, I left the meeting room.

I heard Canary-san let out an “Oh.” She didn’t sound so cheery anymore. There was hurt in her voice.

A knife sliced through my heart. But I didn’t turn back.

Once I was out of there, I went to the kitchenette by the bathrooms. I tossed the model gun into the nonburnable trash can. I hadn’t been able to use it properly in the end anyway. I’d only pulled the trigger once. Against Canary-san. A gun was useless if I couldn’t even control who I shot with it.

“What am I, five? As if I could get any dumber...” I muttered to myself before heading home for good.

A freezing wind buffeted me the second I stepped out of the building. It was already dark. The temperature had dropped considerably since the evening, and I was shivering under my coat. Walking through the cold cooled my overheated brain. When I thought about it, I wasn’t even sure what it was I cared about so much. It was kind of funny, actually.

The anime team was right. The personalities and values belonging to the protagonists of these shows were constantly changing with the times. The same applied to the themes that anime dealt with. The long-running series were good examples. Bathing scenes used to be common, but you didn’t see them at all nowadays, and simple protagonists who cared about nothing but battling were now presented as great heroes.

Endless adaptations, be they manga, games, anime, or movies. The more people involved in shaping an IP, the more those tiny changes stacked up. It was only natural for things to differ slightly from the source material. What was the point of getting up in arms about it?

As Makigai Namako, I’d learned the importance of teamwork through working with the 05th Floor Alliance. I knew how enjoyable, how challenging it could be to polish a product together with a bunch of wild card creators. It was a completely different animal to producing something entirely by yourself.

“It’s fine. The anime doesn’t just belong to me. All that matters is that the director and the animators come up with something good.”

I was mature enough these days. The immature thing would be to keep insisting on having my own way and cause trouble for everyone involved in the process. I was happy to compromise. I was.

“Huh?”

I was standing vacantly on the escalator leading to the subway when I realized my vision was blurring. Maybe it was because I’d entered a heated building. My thoughts had cooled off, but now they were warming back up.

“No... I’m mature...mature...”

I had no idea if this was sadness or frustration. To think I was an author, but I couldn’t even define my own feelings. I couldn’t even exercise enough self-control to suppress the urge to cry.

For goodness’ sake...

I felt like the sole child in a world full of adults. And when that thought hit, I only felt all the more pathetic.

“What would Aki do at a time like this?”

I ended up clinging to the memory of my beloved. I was such a waste of space. Where was that strength I promised myself I’d gain? The strength I sorely needed? I wanted to become a version of myself that didn’t have to rely on Aki anymore. I wanted to be able to walk beside him, not have him lead me by the hand all the time.

But now here I was, hurt only a teeny tiny bit but desperately wanting his hand to hold. Talk about pathetic.

Ooboshi Akiteru’s Side

“What the heck?! Was someone planning a terrorist attack on the office or somethin’?!”

It was 11 p.m. As usual, I was applying myself in my work for UZA Bunko’s editorial department, and since I was heading home, I’d come to the kitchenette for some final errands. Namely, emptying the kettle and taking out the trash. And yeah, I know heading home so late at night is a bit weird, so you don’t have to point it out.

As for what prompted my outburst, I’d just found a handgun in the trash. I’d forgive you for being confused since guns are illegal in this country, but believe me. I was also flummoxed.

Maybe it was a prank by some sort of influencer who was hiding nearby and catching my reaction on camera. If so, I’d be more worried that such a sketchy character had been allowed into an office building in the first place.

I decided to pull the trash bag out while making sure not to get any fingerprints on the thing itself, which I studied carefully. It seemed weighty at first, but not as much as I’d expected. But the weight wasn’t enough for me to figure out if it was the real deal or not. Well, maybe it would be if I’d actually handled a real gun, but I hadn’t.

I’d seen it in a movie by a famous director: A character just discarded a gun like it was nothing. Maybe it happened all the time in cities too. And that was terrifying to think about.

Either way, I wasn’t sure what to do, so I took the “gun” to the first floor along with the rest of the trash bags. Anything left in the disposal area there was picked up by the security guard and handed over to the morning garbage collection, or so I heard. I decided to discuss the matter of the “gun” with him.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s just a model,” he said.

“It is? Phew. I thought there might be gangsters using the building or something.”

The guard laughed. “You can tell by the details, and the real thing’s a lot heavier.”

“I didn’t realize. But how do you know?”

“It’s not uncommon for a model gun to end up in the trash either,” he continued, like he hadn’t heard my profound question. It felt like there was a disturbing darkness just within reach, and I really wanted to push harder, but I was also interested in what he’d just said, so that was what I picked up on.

“It’s not? What, so you see them all the time?”

“Not just model guns, but other fake weapons too. They show up about once every three months, I’d say.”

“O-Oh. I guess someone in this building is a major military buff or something?”

“If they were, they wouldn’t be throwing the stuff away, would they?” he pointed out.

“True...”

“Right, and it’s not just guns. Swords, throwing rings, axes, chainsaws...all sorts.”

“That all sounds really dangerous,” I said.

“Don’t worry. They’re all fake.”

They made fake chainsaws now?

“You know how it is, though. I reckon a lotta people who work in this building have something they need to fight against. There’s a publisher here, right? All the copyright stuff sounds mighty complicated, and it’s probably tough getting authors and businessmen to see eye to eye.”

“I get it. But why would anyone need a weapon for that, fake or not?”

“I reckon it’s a show of resolve. And I get the feeling of wanting something to cling to. It’s probably like a lucky charm.”

“Something to bring them victory?” I said. To me, leaving something up to divinity was an excuse not to think for yourself. Was relying on charms and stuff really normal in the world of work too? “There’s gotta be something more practical they can do than relying on the gods for luck.”

“You got it backward.”

“Huh?”

The guard’s face took on a nostalgic expression as he explained. “There’s still an uncertainty that remains, even after you’ve done everything you can. When someone cares enough to reach that point, they might decide to pray for one last stroke of luck from above.”

“You mean like they’re still not satisfied, even after increasing their chances as best they can?”

“That’s right. When you’re an adult, you’re constantly competing to come out on top. But not everyone can win. Good effort and planning can get you into the ring, but that’s it. Might well be that everything after that is up to the gods. There’s no data or nothing out there to disprove it, right?”

“Right... Thanks. This was a helpful chat,” I said.

“Aww, shucks. Do your best, young man.”

I gave the guard a polite nod before heading to the elevator hall to get back to the editorial department.

“Wait.”

Who was that guy, anyway?

He was just some passerby that I happened to bump into and have a talk with, so why did his personality leave such an impression on me? Could it be that every adult in the city had their own major quirks, just like he did?

Nah...

I returned to the editorial department. There weren’t many editors still milling around, as you’d expect after eleven at night. I wove through the deserted desks toward Canary. You could spot her bright blonde hair from a mile off.

She must’ve had a busy day of meetings and reading manuscripts. Right now, she had her face planted on the desk in front of her like a high schooler pretending to sleep.

“Isn’t it about time to go home, Canary-san?”

Silence.

“Canary-san?”

There was no response. She wasn’t just a corpse, but something was clearly up.

“Are you okay? I can call an ambulance if you’re sick.”

“Nah.”

“Hey, a response.”

So she had heard me when I tried to get her attention. It’d sure have been upsetting if she was ignoring me on purpose, but it could’ve been that her brain was so fried, saying anything exhausted her. I decided to let her offer up whatever information she wanted instead of actively digging.

“Aki-kun.”

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Sure. I mean, I’m kinda your assistant at the moment, right?”

Her head shifted slowly like she was forcing it to move.

“Come with me after this,” she said, voice muffled. From what I could see of her face, she was pouting. “I don’t wanna go home tonight.”

It took me way too long to process her words. “...Huh?”

***

The lighting was super flashy and painted the walls a glossy violet. Moody jazz music filled the room like we were part of a nineties American movie. Next to me was my red-cheeked boss, who just so happened to be a gorgeous office lady. This was no place for a high school boy like me to be, no matter how you sliced it. I could sum up exactly why too.

“Bartender! Get me a vampire malt, neat,” my companion called.

“You’re having another one? Isn’t whiskey the kinda drink you have to pace?” I asked.

“Don’t sweat it, chirp! I can hold my liquor better than an eagle can lift a deer!”

“Sounds like something a modern-day otaku’d say right before passing out.”

Figured it out yet? We were in a bar. Members-only.

Canary said she came here all the time, and she’d booked out the entire place tonight. It was a gray area whether a minor like me was allowed in here, but since she was such a valued customer, they’d let it slide on the condition she swore I wouldn’t drink.

Not to sound like I’m bragging, but I was as law-abiding as they came. Besides, I’d seen firsthand how crazy Murasaki Shikibu-sensei got under the influence, and I could only conclude that alcohol was a fast track to total inefficiency. So I wasn’t in a hurry to drink after becoming an adult either.

Anyway, apparently, when you booked a place out like this, you were supposed to order expensive drinks one after the other. But even then, you’d think there’d be a limit...

“You’re going a little nuts,” I said. “Something you’re trying to forget?”

“There’s a whole heap of stuff I wanna forget. This day has sucked major birdseed.”

“Is it to do with that anime script meeting you went to late this afternoon?”

“Yup. It was about Snow White’s Revenge Classroom—Makigai Namako-sensei’s series.”

I started. In other words, Mashiro’s work. When I joined UZA Bunko, I filled Canary in on a few things, including the fact I was aware of Makigai Namako-sensei’s true identity.

Hold up.

Did that mean Mashiro had come to the building I was working in? As a temporary worker, there was no way I’d have been allowed to sit in on an important anime meeting, so I’d been doing some general editorial work on multimedia stuff at my desk.

Specifically, I had been working on the mobage tie-in of It’s Wrong to Expect a Vibrant Youth in a Tower Defense Game, but That Time I Was a Slime It Wasn’t So Bad, or Tower Defense Slime for short. The game company had sent over some CGs, illustrations, and scenarios, and I had to check that there were no inconsistencies compared to the original work.

Although the author would get the final check and say, it was apparently Canary’s policy to do a first pass and get rid of anything obvious—a job that I’d been helping with.

I had read through twenty-plus volumes of the light novel, watched all four seasons of the anime, and had an encyclopedic knowledge of the manga version. On top of that, I’d drilled all the extra background info the author sent us into my head, and now I was comparing the data we’d been sent from the game with the documentation we already had.

It might have seemed tedious, but learning to respect the source material and communicating my ideas clearly to an outside company would prove invaluable experience for my future in the working world. That was all I needed to motivate me to get my head down and get to work.

To think there’d been a chance of me bumping into Mashiro while that was going on. And from what Canary was telling me, it didn’t sound like the meeting had been pretty.

“I’m guessing it was a rough time?” I asked.

“Honestly? Yeah.”

“Is Mashiro—Makigai Namako-sensei okay? I’d hate to think it got her down.”

“It’s hard to say, but I’m afraid she probably is all doom and gloom. And I mean, I know how to use the Dark-Dark Fruit when I have to, but even then I couldn’t...” Canary gulped down the rest of her whiskey, somehow managing to chirp between swallows.

“What happened? If you’re allowed to say...”

“You’re not gonna leak anything online?”

“Of course not!”

“I dunno if I can trust you. These days, everyone’s uploading ragebait about whatever anime’s airing and claiming there was drama behind the scenes for clicks, chirp.”

“I know, and I hate that kinda thing more than anyone. Besides, I’m under NDA, so you could just sue me.”

“I guess I could... Just kidding! Sorry, sometimes I just can’t help teasing our fledgling part-timer, chirp!”

It was a subtle difference, but she was definitely more annoying than usual right now. Though she said she could hold her liquor, she was looking pretty drunk to me.

“Happens all the time with anime adaptations. The author’s got stuff they don’t wanna compromise on—the backbone of their work—and I gotta fight to defend it. My soaring spirit takes a direct hit every time, chirp.”

“But you stood up for another author today, right? Just like you did with Tower Defense Slime.”

“Squawk! I think you need glasses, Aki-kun! Why do you think I’m chugging down the booze?”

“Oh... Right, sorry.”

I hadn’t noticed before she snapped at me, but it was obvious now. She was so stressed that she needed to drown her sorrows. Who the heck would take that to mean the meeting went well? That said, I found it a difficult pill to swallow.

“I can’t imagine you ever failing, Canary-san,” I said. “I just assumed you nailed it.”

“I’m happy you think so highly of me, at least. I may be an idol, but I’m human first and foremost. That means I hit a roadblock or two sometimes. Worst of all,” she continued, speaking around the piece of dark chocolate in her mouth, “I hurt Makigai-sensei—Mashiro-chan. I feel totally awful for that.”

With that, Canary launched into the details of what happened: about how the anime team wanted to tone down the depictions of the protagonist’s emotions and the revenge scenes. Their opinions clashed with those on the light novel side, and they couldn’t come to a compromise. In the end, Canary wasn’t able to come up with anything to convince them, and though things weren’t settled yet, it looked like the anime team would have the advantage going forward.

“What, so Mashiro’s opinion didn’t count for anything, even though she’s the author?” I asked.

“Every project comes with a different power balance. They’ve got some big names on the anime side with this one, and that’s affecting things. On the flip side, it’ll get everyone jealous when the team’s announced, because they’ll know it’s gonna be a mind-blowing adaptation.”

“Honeyplace Works are managing, Studio AORI are producing, and it’s getting directed by Kowamote Ryuugo-san, right?”

“You got it. Everyone involved is a heavy hitter. I can’t puff up my feathers and chirp about how confident I am in dealing with anime against a team like that!”

“If they’re so accomplished, how is it that they can’t see the backbone of the work? The stuff you’re trying to defend?”

I’d read Snow White’s Revenge Classroom, and I was very familiar with it. The protagonist’s subtle emotions, the ugly desire to retaliate, and even the method of the titular revenge all came together to form one rich, artistic tapestry. Changing any one of those things meant stripping the story of its value. I couldn’t see how these talented creators who dealt with adaptations directly could think that was acceptable.

“The same story can have fundamental differences between the anime and novel,” Canary explained. “And some creatives see a subtly different ‘heart’ at the center of a work, which ends up being what they value.”

“What does this anime team value, then?”

“Dynamics. That’s what anime’s all about, chirp.”

“But the story should lead. All the movement and visual stuff should follow it, right?”

“That’s how you see it, and I totally get you. Pretty sure that tracks with what most viewers think too.”

“But not what anime teams think?”

“As you might guess, it totally depends on the director. When it comes to producing anime, some birdies like to flip the script!”

“You mean, like, they think the dynamic stuff comes first and the story’s not as important?”

“That’s it! They might value the images, the scenes, the action they wanna show above everything else. It’s a key point where you’re gonna get differences between people who’ve dedicated themselves to the artistic field versus people who’ve dedicated themselves to literature and storytelling.”

“So basically, they don’t see conveying the emotions that are described in the text as high priority?”

“You’re a wise old owl, huh? That’s exactly it,” she said, spoken like the annoying old mentor guy you saw in online manga when he was praising the protagonist. “The anime team aren’t looking to ruffle any feathers. They’re just confident they can use the visuals to give a similar experience to reading the source material.”

“Then why not just explain that to Mashiro? I’m sure she’ll get it.”

“They did. Or they probably thought they did, anyway.”

“Huh? She refused to compromise, then?”

“It’s not like that, but I think Makigai-sensei probably felt threatened by all this.”

“Threatened? That makes it sound like a really big deal,” I said.

“Did you see Kowamote-san or the rest of the team, Aki-kun?”

“I dunno. Oh, though I went to the bathroom around the time the meeting was probably wrapping up, and I saw this group waiting for the elevator. I guess that could’ve been them?”

“Was there a beefy bald guy, chirp?”

“Yeah, there was.”

“That’d be them. You totally flew within inches of each other!”

It hadn’t been as dramatic an encounter as all that. I watched as she picked up a nut this time and held it in front of my face. My heart skipped a beat. It was a tiny thing, and the fingers holding on to it were so slender.

Obviously I wasn’t gonna eat it from her fingers. I wasn’t gonna let her feed me. I was working for Canary to better myself. I had no ulterior motives whatsoever. Besides, I already knew who I liked, and that meant there was no way I’d waver in the face of such luscious temptation. You got that?

“What did you think?” Canary asked.

“That fidelity is a virtue I wanna live by.”

“I mean about Kowamote-san and his team! What kinda people did they seem like to you, at a glance?”

“Like...regular middle-aged guys?”

“Exactly, chirp!”

I definitely wouldn’t have clocked them as top-class creatives if she hadn’t told me. One of the valuable things I’d learned while working at UZA Bunko was not to ingratiate myself unduly to industry professionals. Canary’s handy skill set meant she worked with popular authors, illustrators, manga artists, famous game producers, and more.

At first, they’d seemed like gods to me, and I felt guilty to put them through the slightest bit of trouble, but as I carried on working with them, I started to spot the humanity in them. Under the surface, they were just as human as I was. Recognizing that had been super helpful.

“I’d say Makigai-sensei has a totally different view of them, chirp,” Canary said.

“What sort of view?”

“Like ultra-terrifying gangsters!”

“Talk about unprofessional!”

“They’re not scary at all, of course,” Canary said, “but I think that’s how they seem to her.”

“Like her brain twisted their appearance so they look hostile... Wait.”

“What’s up?”

“Oh, uh. Nothing.”

What if the model gun I found in the trash...

Nah. There was no way Mashiro would ever go on the offensive like that, eyes all crazy and without a care about if she’d escape with her life. There was no...way? Now I wasn’t so sure. I guess it didn’t matter either way, though.

“That’s how things went down, anyway. Makigai-sensei’s probably been isolating herself in her nest today.”

“But I’m sure you were on her side from beginning to end. That’s something you can take pride in.”

“Thanks. I know that, but it still gets me down.” All her courage and energy seemed to drain out of her as she let her cheek rest on the counter. I’d only ever seen Murasaki Shikibu-sensei this drunk before. Strangely, though, I didn’t feel as inclined to call her a piece of shit. “Bartender, get me a dragon slayer on the rocks.”

“You got it.” The refined bartender was quick to respond, taking a bottle down from the shelf and pouring its red contents into a glass before putting it beside Canary’s face with a clink.

The names of all these drinks would get any second-year middle schooler excited. Maybe Canary was into that kinda thing too. She gazed at the bright red liquor, her eyes losing their focus and narrowing like she could see something in the far-off distance.

“Y’know, when stuff like this happens, it always reminds me of the past...”

“What about the past?”

“Back when I was still a young chick, the only fledgling in a flock of working adults,” she said. “And I messed up bad.”

***

The jazz playing in the bar suddenly sounded a decade older. That was what it seemed like to a guy with zero jazz knowledge, at least. (It was me. I was the guy with zero jazz knowledge.)

So maybe I was just being weirdly wistful, but either way I decided to pretend I hadn’t noticed. After all, this was just the atmosphere I wanted for engrossing myself in her story.

“I’m a full-fledged canary now, but I used to be just a plain graduate who loved books,” Canary began.

“You’re kidding. I can’t picture it.”

“Maybe I’ll dye my hair black and show you. I didn’t even wear makeup. I was totally ordinary.”

The way she spoke, it was like she missed the past. I seriously couldn’t imagine what she’d been like as a newbie, given how she was a veteran of the industry now. But I guess everyone has a past.

“I might’ve been the last girl you’d expect to become an idol, but I did have more passion and love for novels than anyone else. Working in the industry was a dream come true, and I couldn’t wait to give it my all. And UZA Bunko, of all places, which published a series by an author I absolutely loved as a student. Have you heard of Torisaka Reiji-sensei?”

“Uh, no. Sorry...”

Canary laughed. “I don’t blame you. Not a single hit to his name.”

“Right.”

“I loved him, though. You could probably call it shortsightedness. I was so deep in the world of novels that I was blind to what was popular. It was only after I joined the industry that I learned what makes a hit and what doesn’t sell. A lot of Torisaka-sensei’s series ended after three or five volumes,” she explained. “Now you’ve had some experience working with us in the editorial department, I wonder what you make of that, Aki-kun.”

“Not to be rude, but they all got canned early on.”

“Exactly. But I didn’t know the inner workings of the industry yet, so I thought he was just a skilled writer who excelled in great short series that didn’t need to go on for so long. I thought it was a stylistic thing, not that his stuff got canceled. His series were amazing, so it never occurred to me they weren’t selling.”

“I can see how you’d get that if you didn’t know any better.”

I couldn’t relate that much, because I’d made it a habit to look at mobile game KPIs fairly early on. But looking at my classmates, it did seem like they weren’t that aware of how successful the mobile games they played actually were. They’d encounter a product by sheer coincidence and to them, all that mattered was whether it was any fun or not. They’d never see the sales or download figures without actively seeking them out.

“Torisaka-sensei lost a lot of hope. The market wasn’t accepting what he wanted to write, but he didn’t have the will to write something that did work, but that he wasn’t personally interested in. He even thought about giving up on writing altogether.”

“No way...”

“It was a total shock to me. I mean, the author I admired like no one else was thinking of throwing in the towel. It was heartbreaking, actually.”

“I’ll be honest, I’ve never experienced something like that. I can sorta imagine how it feels, though.” I’d be just as shocked if Makigai Namako-sensei were in the same position. “So that was your mistake, huh?”

“Nuh-uh. Hey, if that’s what you call messing up bad, then the new editors we’re working with don’t have a chance.”

There was more to the story, then. Something even more painful than what she’d already told me. I gulped unconsciously.

“The editor-in-chief at the time assigned me to Torisaka-sensei. The editor before me transferred to a literary agent and left him high and dry. It’d be perfect, the boss said, because I was a fan already. And I was super excited to be working with Torisaka-sensei as my first ever author.”

“Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve been perfect if that was where it ended. Unfortunately, time keeps ticking even after you get what should be a happy ending.” Canary took a sip of her dragon slayer and gave a scornful smile. “The first work I edited, the first volume in Torisaka-sensei’s new series—something that was supposed to be a huge deal—was a total flop. They were the lowest sales figures his works had ever seen.”

“A flop? But Canary-san, I thought all your series got multiple print runs.”

“Karaboshi Kanaria’s series do, yeah. But I worked on that series under my real name, Hoshino Kana, and it was a flop. Guess that makes me a fraud, huh?”

I couldn’t argue with that, but then plenty of people used stage names for similar reasons.

“I was totally inexperienced at the time. Torisaka-sensei’s stories were great, and I believed that they’d sell if we just added a ton of pretty illustrations to them. So I had him write a story in that style I adored and got one of my favorite big-name illustrators with the most gorgeous drawings to take care of the artwork. I was sure it’d be a hit and that we’d struck gold before it even went on sale. If you’d interviewed me at the time, I’d have told you all about the house I was gonna buy in Aoyama and the luxury car I was gonna drive.”

“I know it’s popular to criticize people for running their mouths, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having confidence in your work.” I mean, she was successful enough to be living in a fancy apartment (even if it wasn’t in Aoyama) and driving around in an expensive car. “Anyway, the way you’re telling it to me, it sounds like you put all the effort in to make that series a hit. And it was a good story too, right?”

“It was a masterpiece. In my eyes, at least,” Canary said.

“Huh?”

“The audience disagreed with me.”

“The market didn’t like it, you mean? Or your tastes are super niche or something?”

“If only it were that simple. The people who read it gave it rave reviews. There were tons of readers who loved it as much as I did. There was high praise on social media and in fan letters, everywhere.”

“But it didn’t sell. Right?”

“Right. And after all this time, I can give you a ton of reasons why. One of those stands out way above the rest. Wanna guess what it was?”

“Maybe the illustrations were dated? I can kind of picture it. It wasn’t that the artist wasn’t skilled, but their style didn’t quite match what was popular at the time. Or it didn’t match the story. Or...even though you loved it, it didn’t resonate with any audiences.”

Thanks to my work with UZA Bunko, I had a vague sense of what the issue might have been. An illustration that immediately looked good didn’t necessarily sell, and there were several reasons that could be. The ones I gave were just two of them.

Canary shook her head. “That is part of it, but there’s more. It’s something simpler than that: The story’s charm wasn’t something that hit you in the face right away. That’s why it failed.”

“Wh...”

Was “charm” supposed to be violent? Canary looked serious, though. Her choice of words was no joke.

“Someone becomes aware of a work. They get curious. Then they want it. Then they remember it, and then they go buy it. That’s the road that leads up to a sale. If you consider the internet, you can toss in looking it up and sharing it as part of the process too. Either way, if you can’t create that link between awareness and curiosity, most people won’t ever notice that your product exists. I bet you know exactly what I’m talking about from your experience with video games.”

“Oh!”

I thought back to when Koyagi had been newly released. Our numbers had been pitiful when awareness was low. Just having Makigai Namako-sensei’s name in the credits wasn’t enough for people to take note of her involvement, so we had her mention the game in her afterwords, while we did promotion on social media in the hopes of gradually attracting more fans.

As for the art, no one picked up on the fact that Murasaki Shikibu-sensei was involved until she put out a post on social media directed at the fans of her old doujin works. Only then did she reach her core fan base.

That was how we gained slow traction at first, because we didn’t have the budget to run online ads or anything. Until one day, we reached critical mass, and the numbers suddenly shot up.

That gentle slope turned into a crazy sharp incline. Awareness spread to the very corners of Makigai Namako-sensei’s and Murasaki Shikibu-sensei’s fan bases, who realized we had a decent game, and then the floodgates opened. We started climbing the online rankings a good while after our release, which made us known to more general gamers, and then our downloads got even higher thanks to great reviews and eye-catching web banners.

Our slow initial growth had nothing to do with the quality of the game itself and everything to do with our failure to market ourselves properly. Games and books were different in a lot of ways, but I bet there was a comparison to be made there.

“Taking it a step further, people don’t notice something they’re not interested in, even when it’s right in front of their faces. You gotta show it to them again and again and make a lot of noise about it. There’s an aromatherapy store right near here. I bet you didn’t notice it, right, Aki-kun?”

“Not at all,” I said. “It’s news to me.”

“Even though there was a fancy, adorable sign outside that said ‘aromatherapy’ on it. Your whole worldview can change depending on what you’re interested in.”

“It really hits home when you pull up a personal example, huh?”

“There was nothing about the story that attracted the interest of light novel readers at the time, and nothing to attract them superficially. That was why it failed.”

“Superficially: the title, the cover, the obi. There was more you could’ve done to polish it up there, basically.”

“I dunno if I’d say that. We could’ve prettied up the outside all we wanted, but that wouldn’t have been enough if the inside didn’t grab readers’ attention too. We would have needed a huge advertising budget to force readers to notice our title if we wanted to break through that wall of indifference.”

“Man... That must’ve been really tough. Like, here was a title you believed in, but it just couldn’t push through those barriers by itself.”

The majority of people who read it actually liked it. But the people whose interest didn’t naturally draw them to it never even knew it existed. They didn’t ignore it on purpose; their minds just blocked it out.

There was something that struck me as odd working at UZA Bunko: the fact that so many light novel covers looked similar. The art itself was endlessly unique, but the genres, the composition of the covers, and the titles... It was like they were all desperately trying to sell themselves to fans of similar works.

Obviously I wasn’t talking about all of them. And there were probably books there created by logic rather than trends. But it was something I couldn’t help but notice during my experience.

That said, those series weren’t ripping each other off. It was just one solution that editors had come up with to counter the lack of awareness. It achieved that first step of bringing a work to a consumer’s attention.

“Tough is right,” Canary continued. “When a writer’s motivation is low to start with, something like that can be totally disillusioning. At that point, they’re fated to put down their pen and never write another commercial work.”

I almost didn’t dare ask. “Is that what happened to Torisaka-sensei?”

“Yup. My first editorial work was a flop, and I single-handedly ended the career of my favorite writer.” Canary laughed dryly. “Talk about traumatic, huh?”

Only when she downed it did I realize her glass had another shot of whiskey in it. She put it down with a clink, then looked up at the ceiling. “I see him in my dreams sometimes. Torisaka-sensei. That heartbroken look on his face. He tells me how he’s never writing again, how he hates books. He’s being so dismissive of what used to mean the world to him, and he sounds so sad.”

“I’m sorry, Canary-san.”

“Felt like death was my only way out at that point.”

“Death?!”

“So I figured, might as well try to find a way to succeed in such a crappy industry and study like my life depended on it, because at least then I could still live. I researched the ins and outs of publishing to find out what a hit was, how I could make people want something, how to make an author shine. It was the only thing I focused on. Then, one day, I realized anything’s possible if you don’t worry what other people think of you.”

“And that’s when Kiraboshi Kanaria was born?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t like anyone else in the industry wanted to do something so cringe. Everyone made fun of me when I started, in real life and online. I was an editor; I was supposed to keep my head down. I was getting ahead of myself, just because I got picked up by a huge company, and I didn’t have the achievements to back it up.”

Suddenly, I felt bad for the slightest thought my past self might’ve had that idols were cringe. I never knew there was such a raw background behind Canary’s persona. I was in awe.

“Who’d ever wanna go down a hellish path like that?” she went on. “It was like walking into a mine and never knowing if I’d get out alive. But I am alive. I can breathe. The canary’s fine.”

“A canary in a coal mine...”

So that was where her stage name came from.

“Torisaka-sensei’s never coming back, no matter what I do. But if he ever did, I’d turn his work into a hit. No author I work with is ever gonna give up before achieving their dreams again. That vow gave birth to Kiraboshi Kanaria, and that’s why I always get multiple print runs, chirp!” Canary declared, chirping again and louder than ever.

But then she fell silent for a second and sighed. “Well, I can sit on my high hawk all I want, but I failed Makigai-sensei today. I promised myself we wouldn’t lose her story’s essence. If she loses her motivation over this, then that just means I’ve made the same mistake all over again. Some editor I am, huh?! Who do I think I am, claiming to be some idol? Dammit! I’m supposed to be able to protect the authors I believe in! I’m a failure! Bartender! Gimme something stronger!” She was starting to slur.

“Wait, Canary-san, I really think you should stop!” I said.

Her cheeks were obviously flushed, and her eyes were as watery as a soft-boiled egg. I exchanged a look with the bartender, who nodded at me. Canary was a regular here, and he seemed to think she’d had enough too.

“Let’s leave it there, okay?” I said.

“No! I gotta destroy my liver! It needs to chirping die!”

“You’re not a failure, but you will be if you keep this up! How many authors are gonna be in trouble if you end up in the hospital? Mashiro—I mean, Makigai-sensei—wouldn’t want you to punish yourself this way!”

“Then you’ll have to punish me instead, Aki-kun!”

“Excuse me?”

“Put me in my place! Make a total mess of me!”

“I think this is where I have to remind you I’m a minor...”

We were getting nowhere fast. She was flailing all four limbs in a tantrum, and I was doing what I could to pacify her, but it was impossible to keep her still physically. With an attractive body like hers, I wasn’t really sure where I should be touching her either. It took all the experience I had dealing with a drunken Murasaki Shikibu-sensei to finally get Canary to settle down.

It was the first time I’d ever felt gratitude toward the Alliance’s artist. Not that I endorsed her drinking.

There was a back-and-forth of Canary asking for and being denied another drink until eventually she collapsed exhausted onto the counter and fell asleep, snoring sweetly.

“Feel free to stick around till she wakes up,” the bartender said with a sympathetic smile.

I shook my head. “Thanks, but she’s got work tomorrow. I’ll find her a proper place to sleep.”

“Yeah, probably for the best.”

“Here, we’ll pay with this.”

“Sure.”

After settling up with the credit card Canary lent me, I bore her limp weight on my shoulders, then headed out into the night.

She’d surprised me that evening. She was an invincible idol in my eyes, but even she’d had her fair share of failure. And even now, when those failures stacked up, she was very capable of loathing herself.

When I first approached UZA Bunko, I thought learning about the working world would teach me how to stand up against Amachi-san. Now I was thinking I might’ve been wildly off track.

An adult, a professional, wasn’t someone who was flawless. It was someone who, despite their weaknesses, stood up time and time again—or crawled if they had to—but either way they continued to fight. But maybe it was too soon for me to settle on that conclusion.

Kiraboshi Kanaria’s Side

Chirp, chirp, chirp.

Was that the clichéd birdsong of the morning hours? Nope.

“Chirp, chirp, chirp. Good morning. Time to get up and go to school.”

“Chirp, chirp, chirp. Good morning. Time to get up and go to work.”

“Chirp, chirp, chirp. Good morning. Time to get up and go to the bookstore.”

It was my own voice, played over and over like it was trying to brainwash me through the haze of sleepiness. A special Kiraboshi Kanaria alarm-clock voice, sold to rave reviews on UZA Bunko’s digital storefront. And it was coming from my own phone.

I groaned. “Iz too early for this... Stop screeching... I’m hungover, chirp...”

I reached out with an unsteady hand and found my phone. One touch deactivated the alarm and cut off the annoying voice.

I dragged myself into a sitting position. I didn’t feel like going back to sleep. The annoying alarm had done a perfect job of waking me up. I used it to replicate the user experience; did the fact that it annoyed me so much mean it was a failed product? Well, it had gotten me up, so I guess as an alarm clock it worked as it was supposed to.

“Owww... My back...”

My back and hips were smarting. I must have slept in a weird position. The pain snapped me back to my senses, and I touched the sheets in a panic. They weren’t quite as silky as the fancy ones I used at home, and the recoil from the mattress springs felt different too.

This...isn’t my bed?! But where...

My blurry vision and mind gradually cleared up as I looked around the room. It was only just big enough for the two beds inside it. They were shoved together so close they might as well have been one double bed! There was a window and a small table paired with a chair. There was also a mirror, desk, and chair set, and a TV on top of the hotel dresser.

“Hotel?”

This was totally the sort of room an office worker would stay in on a business trip. I thanked my lucky stars that it definitely wasn’t a love hotel. Getting involved in a crazy scandal I was too drunk to remember was probably the worst thing that could happen. If something like that got out to the tabloids or some gossip influencer recorded it, I was finished.

“Okay, so it’s not a love hotel, but... What am I doing here? Did I decide to...”

I fished through my chaotic memories. I went to my favorite bar last night after work, and then...

“Oh, Canary-san. Good morning.”

“Squawk!”

The bathroom door rattled open, and out stepped high schooler Aki-kun. He was in a bathrobe, and steam was coming off his body.

“I just had a bath, and I drained it. I can refill the tub if you want one too?” he asked, like everything was totally normal.

“Uh, um, sure, please?”

“Got it.”

He went back into the bathroom.

So that was that.

Wait. No, it wasn’t!

There was nothing okay about this! Had I just spent the night in a hotel room with a minor?! Had I forgotten how old I was?! Oh, seventeen. Okay, so that was... No, birdbrain! A court of law was never gonna believe I was my character! The police were gonna get me, and I was gonna be found guilty!

I rolled from the bed in a panic and checked the trash can. There was...no evidence that anything bad had happened. Which was something. What sort of evidence was I expecting, you ask? You’d know if you’d paid attention during your sex education. I can’t spell it out for you in graphic detail, because I’m an idol!

I also checked myself. Everything was normal there. Looked like I’d just slept like a baby after getting flat-out drunk.

Wooo! Not guilty!

“What are you doing?”

“Wah! N-N-Nothing, chirp! Just a little interrogation between me and my personal Mr. Hyde.”

“What, like Jekyll and Hyde? I didn’t know you had a heinous bad guy living inside you.”

“Okay, bookworm! You weren’t s’posed to get that! I was trying to be mysterious, chirp!”

“O-Oh. Sorry.” Aki-kun scratched at his cheek awkwardly.

Grrr, I was the one owing an apology here! I didn’t mean to snap at him... It was a defense mechanism against the guilt I felt! And if my heart could just stop pounding for a second, I’d appreciate it.

It was partly because he was all defenseless in his bathrobe, but also because I’d never spent the night in a hotel with a guy before. He may have been staying at my place, but I had never let him into the private haven of my bedroom.

He was getting a pretty good deal, considering he was freeloading: a spacious room in a high-rise luxury apartment. We slept in separate rooms, and the soundproofing was so perfect we didn’t even hear each other walking around. I often forgot that we were living under one roof.

This was different.

We’d slept in the same room, the same space. He’d seen me sleeping and totally vulnerable. It was such an alien situation to me that I felt like the burning embarrassment of it all was gonna turn me into a roast chicken!

“Um, Aki-kun...” I began. In fact, I was so embarrassed, I was struggling to talk properly. Somehow managing to pull myself together, I timidly carried on. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“I don’t really remember what happened last night. What’re we doing in a hotel?”

“Do you remember drinking at that bar you like?”

“Kinda. And I spoke to you about something...personal, didn’t I?”

“You did, and then you drank too much and passed out. You had work tomorrow—well, today—and I thought you should sleep in a proper bed. So I walked you from the bar.”

“Why did you take me to a hotel instead of my place?”

“I didn’t think I could support your weight all the way there. And you need an ID to get in. I didn’t wanna go through your bag, and if we hung around outside for too long, we’d probably end up attracting unwanted attention. You’re an idol, after all. So I figured we were better off going to the ABA Hotel right by the bar.”

“Oh, that makes sense... I’m sorry you had to go through so much for me, Aki-kun.” I was the adult here, and he was the kid. This was too embarrassing!

“That was nothing, Canary-san! I’ve dealt with way worse than you.”

He looked so earnest right now that I couldn’t help but stare. What a gentleman! He’d put real thought into every last thing and hadn’t taken the least bit advantage of me when I was vulnerable.

He was going to make the perfect husband for someone one day. Almost too perfect... I’d given up on the idea of marriage because I was a career woman married to her job, and yet here was this example of great husband material. Was fate teasing me or what?

“That reminds me, Canary-san. Y’know what we discussed yesterday? Well—”

“S-Sorry, Aki-kun, but I’m gonna go have that bath!”

“Huh? Oh, uh. Go ahead...”

I ran away from whatever he was going to ask from me and into the bathroom. I couldn’t risk talking to him anymore. I couldn’t risk looking at him!

If this stay at the hotel hadn’t been his idea, I would assuredly find myself hauled off to the police station—so I definitely couldn’t risk developing any weird feelings for this teenager! What kinda adult would that make me? I was only at the stage of being caught off guard, leaving my brain in a mess. I was too old to fall in love just ’cause some guy showed me a little kindness!

Suppress it, Canary! Calm down!

I recited a purifying prayer to myself as I stripped and stepped into the wetroom. I showered to clean myself up, and as I was washing my hair, my roasted chicken of a brain calmed back to a half-cooked state.

“Whew... Gotta meditate... Meditating solves everything...”

Meditation and baths worked wonders on mental health. Being naked was great. It was the best way to relax, unburdened by a single thread and as free as the day you were born. I’d walk around my apartment totally naked if I could.

There was no pressure, nothing restricting me right now. The air was in contact with my bare skin, making me aware of the intense life whooshing through my blood vessels. Hot water droplets bounced off my soft, unblemished body. I’d never ever dyed my hair before becoming Kiraboshi Kanaria; the water was soaking into my blonde locks and weighing them down.

Once I was clean, I poured some rose-scented bath powder into the tub Aki-kun had filled up for me before getting in. Bath powder in a business hotel? It got my thumbs-up.

I sighed happily. “Just what I needed...”

“Do you mind if I talk to you now?” Aki-kun called from outside.

“What’s up?” My reply echoed off the walls.

“I was gonna wait for you to get out, but we’re gonna have to get ready for work soon, and I thought I’d let you know early so we don’t need to get in a mad rush.”

“No need to overexplain. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say as thanks for last night.”

“I’ve been thinking, and I just can’t accept the changes they want to make to Makigai-sensei’s anime.”

“Go on,” I said.

“I get it. Visuals are the core component of anime; not the story. But think of it this way. You’re a professional editor, and the core component of your field is editing a story to bring out its charm. At the same time, you have to consider visuals when you’re choosing illustrations, right?”

“Yup. That’s an area where we really get to show off our stuff. The best editors will have a great sense for the visuals and everything too.”

“In that case, don’t you think the best anime directors would know when not to mess with a story?”

I gasped. It wasn’t like I’d never thought of that before. A good director would be able to recognize a story’s important components.

Obviously.

But during that Snow White meeting, when the anime team came up with a proposal that seemed to make light of the story’s core components, I instinctively saw them as less competent because of that. Actually, it’d be more accurate to say I was disappointed.

“If Kowamote-san really is all he’s cracked up to be, then he should be able to see the problems you’ve got with their changes. I think it might be worth asking some direct questions and finding out if the script revisions are what he, the director, thinks are best, or whether they’re being influenced by outside opinion.”

“I gotta be direct, huh?”

“Your story yesterday really got me thinking. Even the most amazing people out there have had bouts of inexperience, failure, and frustration, but all of that’s what makes them who they are today. I mean, it’s obvious, but at some point I forgot all about it. Can you blame me, though? Adults rarely open up—they’re rarely direct—unless they’ve got alcohol in their system,” Aki-kun said.

“For good reason. Opening up in a business setting is like stepping out onto a battlefield buck naked.”

“But being naked means being natural. And what could be easier than that?”

“Quit reading my mind. I don’t want you one-upping me like that!”

“Huh?”

“N-Nothing, chirp!”

Okay, so he didn’t know I’d just been philosophizing about getting naked. I mean, this wasn’t some spy-whatever manga where mind reading was a thing. Either way, I’d rather he read my mind about the nudity thing than about the way his teenage self had my heart racing earlier!

Anyway.

What Aki-kun said made sense.

Trying to figure out who exactly had complained about Makigai-sensei’s work seemed like a good next step. The anime team had to present a united front, so if the director had his reservations, he would have been keeping them to himself. And if we could get him on our side, Makigai Namako-sensei might just be able to have her way!

“I know what we’re gonna do.” I pumped my fists and stood up from the bathtub. “Aki-kun, fetch me my towel!”

“Here.”

He must’ve heard me standing up. He was already holding a towel through the crack in the half-open door. I took it from him and started to dry myself off.

“You’re a wise old owl, Aki-kun! I’m wiping my schedule clean for the day and I’ll be out of the office, chirp!”

“Got it. I’m ready to take orders for whatever you want me to do while you’re away, Canary-san.”

“Tsk, tsk! I mean, I’ve got orders, but don’t think you’ll be roosting at a desk all day, chirp!”

I slid the bathroom door open. Aki-kun’s eyes widened in surprise when he caught sight of me. Too bad for him, I had a towel around me, so he wasn’t getting a single peep! Your hopes can’t be crushed if you keep them from flying high, teens!

My brain was back on track. I turned to Aki-kun, who was still rooted to the spot, then shot him a smile way too cheeky for a professional like me.

“You’re coming with me, chirp. This canary’s going to war, and I need someone to keep an eye on me!”

He only paused for a second. “Okay. I’d be happy to come along.”

You ready for this, Canary? I thought to myself. Ha. I’ve been ready since the day I dumped my old name!

I was ready to die out there if I had to. I was ready for the logic of the business world to overwhelm me, for them to treat me like an annoying brat, and to suffer as a result of it all. But I would not let them cut out the core of Makigai-sensei’s work.

***

“How come Aki doesn’t treat me like a queen when I get blackout drunk?!”

“Probably ’cause of your insane rap sheet. Y’know, the missed deadlines, the unnecessary yaoi goggles, that kinda thing.”

“Guh! B-But Canary-san has a lot of stuff stacked against her too! She pretends to be seventeen, she thinks she’s an idol, and she’s overall annoying!”

“Yeah, but none of that causes problems for Aki.”

“You’re so right!”

“Besides, Aki likes annoying.”

“Huh... How is Iroha-chan doing anyway? She hasn’t shown up since that thing about an audition. Though I guess she’s had more scenes than me...”

“Your lack of screen time is a feature, not a bug, by the way.”

“Hey!”

“I don’t think you have to worry about Iroha, though. No matter how far apart they are, she and Aki always come back together in the end. There’s an annoyance-based causality there. They’re probably fated to meet again sometime soon.”

“That was quite the statement... I guess our STEM guy’s now seizing control of literacy too, huh?”

Chapter 8: Kids Are the Enemies of the Adult World

Kohinata Iroha’s Side

It was the morning of December 23rd, the day before Christmas Eve. That said, it was a weekday, and this morning was the same as the rest of them. I was ready for school in my uniform, lying on the bed despite the wrinkles that might get in my blouse, and staring at my phone. On the screen was a fluidly animated 2D character.

“Good-buenos-buon-giorno! I am a cat-eared-saint and my nyame is Nekoneko Nekoko!”

“Okay, Nekoko... What country are you from, exactly?” I swiped through to the next video.

“Zeulutations, followers of the divine Zeus. Welcome to this ASMR stream, and prepare yourselves to have your ears licked while you meditate. I do hope you remember your tithes.”

“What’s this, an online cult? It’s like there’s a VTuber for everything...”

It looked like he referred to paid chats as tithing too. Must’ve been his thing.

Next...

“Testin’, testin’...can y’all hear me? ’Kay, I’m gonna start...”

“Whoa, it’s like if Otoi-san streamed,” I said. “She’s a ‘downer,’ then, I’m guessing.”

She seemed pretty popular too. Maybe Otoi-san could actually find success with this sorta thing. If she could be bothered to actually do it.

Next up...

“Gah ha ha ha! Five thousand viewers at the same time?! I’m dying! You’re still going to school today, right? LMAO.”

“She is way too crazy for this early in the morning! And freaking annoying! But wait...she’s also super popular!”

I didn’t know how she could act like that after just waking up. If this was what boys were into these days, we were all doomed.

Wait a second... What was this sensation? A small tugging in the back of my skull... Almost like karma...

Whatever. Next.

“I’d like to introduce my breakfast to you today. I picked these mopek herbs from the mountains behind my house, then soaked them in my family’s secret ponulo broth recipe, added them to a mixer with some natto, and now I’ve got the perfect moppali smoothie! Costs less than a hundred yen a pop, so it’s perfect for you cash-strapped students.”

“Endorsing a breakfast made from stuff no one’s ever heard of?! Now that’s terrifying!”

The wild thing was that it wasn’t even coming off like a joke. The chat was talking like everything she said was a fact. It felt like I was staring into a deep, deep void.

Next— Huh? I had a LIME message.

I switched over from the streaming app. If it was Sasara, she was getting ignored. But it wasn’t, and I sat up in bed.

“Senpai! Senpai, it’s you!”

There was his username—a name I hadn’t seen in so long!—AKI! Up till now, he’d only been sending robotic instructions to the Alliance group chat via Otoi-san. But now he was contacting me of his own free will! Me alone and not the group!

Hey! It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow!

Could it be that he was maybe possibly positively inviting me out on a date?! You totally cracked, Senpai! All this bravado about going out in the world to train and not coming back till you were tougher, but the second Christmas came around you missed me so much that you just had to get in touch!

Awww, too bad I’m so busy with my voicework training! But I guess I could think about it if you wanna see me so desperately!

AKI: Could you check on Mashiro for me? If she’s down, I want you to cheer her up.

I stared at the message for a moment. Imagine that ancient internet meme of the two photos of the four American reaction guys, first excited and then completely deadpan. Literally me. (By the way, Sumire-chan-sensei told me about that meme.)

“He doesn’t contact me for ages, and when he does, it’s about another girl. Nani. The. F*ck.”

The bleeped-out swear echoed off the walls.

I sighed. “I guess Senpai’s gonna Senpai. What happened to your training, huh? You haven’t changed a smidge!” Another sigh helped me relax. “I wonder what’s up with Mashiro-senpai, though.”

It made me anxious to think something might have happened to her. That was a way bigger worry to me than Senpai’s concern about my love rival. Mashiro-senpai and I were friends, after all.

I looked at the clock. It was still too early to leave for school. So I pumped myself up and leaped from the bed like a gymnast, springs creaking behind me.

“All righty, then, let’s do this thing! Time to storm my neighbor’s neighbor, Mashiro-senpai!”

***

“Maaashiro-senpai! Mashiro-senpai! Mashiro-senpaaai! Mashiro-senpaiii!”

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-do-do-do-do-dooong.

“Quit making all that noise. Are you dumb or just annoying?”

“Just annoying!”

And with that, Mashiro-senpai let me right on in. I’d never seen her living room before, but safe to say it was a mess. One couch and one huge TV. Just like you’d expect to see in a regular apartment (except ours, which was minus the TV, but yeah).

It was the rest of it that was the problem! There were piles of cardboard boxes all over the place. They were squeezed in next to the TV and couch too, layered so high that the boxes at the very bottom were getting squished and smooshed by all the weight!

“Sorry, I don’t have anything fancier,” Mashiro-senpai said, emerging from the kitchen with two canned drinks. She held one out to me. “Here, tomato juice.”

“Thanks very much. Listen, maybe I shouldn’t ask, but...”

“The boxes?” she asked, following my gaze. She went to sit on the couch and opened the tab of her tomato juice. “They’re samples of my books and merchandise. They send me tons of it, so it’s all just piling up.”

“No way, seriously?! It’s like you’re a proper author!”

“I am a proper author. You have amnesia or something?”

“R-Right, you are,” I said. “Sorry, I know you are, but it hasn’t really hit home yet. Aha ha ha...”

I was looking at the ultra-popular Makigai Namako-sensei. The fact that we knew each other was some kind of weird fate, but even when everything around me shouted that she really was him, it still didn’t register properly.

“This isn’t what I imagined an author’s apartment to look like at all,” I said.

“How did you imagine it?”

“Like, with a whole wall of bookshelves. Books everywhere.”

“There are books everywhere. My books,” Mashiro-senpai said.

“And the shelves, mademoiselle?”

“I’ve got some in my room. But my room’s private, so I’m not showing you.”

“Huh?! Well, now I really wanna see it! Are you hiding something eighteen-plus in there, Mashiro-senpai?!”

“Wh— Obviously not! I don’t wanna hear you say stuff like that!”

“But it’s super suspicious. I mean, why not just show me if you don’t have anything to hide?”

“Y-You are so annoying! Why are you here, anyway? To be mean to me?”

“Oops! Nearly forgot!” I brought a fist down onto my palm. I got so wrapped up in our easy and pointless conversation that I lost sight of my objective! “I heard you might be down in the dumps, Mashiro-senpai. You know, all broody, rock-bottom mental health crisis, so I thought I could give ya a detox with my super-healthy peskiness!”

Her mouth fell open. “How did you know?”

“Senpai gave me a li’l tip-off!”

“Huh? He’s been messaging you?”

“Eeep! I didn’t mean to give you more stuff to worry about! Ch-Chill out, okay, Mashiro-senpai?! He just sent me one message outta nowhere this morning, and it was about you!”

“Hmmm. Okay, fine. But how does Aki know what’s going on with me? If he was worried, he could’ve just messaged me directly...” Mashiro-senpai was frowning suspiciously as she thought things through.

Thinking about it, didn’t I have every right to suspect Senpai of secretly meeting up with her? But I couldn’t see why she’d lie, since she was being honest about her double life now.

“Something is gettin’ you down then, huh?” I asked.

“I’m not down,” she mumbled.

“And I’m totally not convinced when you look down.” My juice can hissed as I opened it and took a sip. Yup. Tasty as always!

I sat there drinking on her couch, knees pulled up to my chest. There was space for a whole other person between us.

“I told you about Snow White’s Revenge Classroom getting an anime, right? We’re having script meetings to decide what kinda anime it’s going to be.”

“Yeah, you told me. Um...sounds tough.”

I still didn’t really know how to react to this kind of stuff. It was weird to think someone so close to me was writing something so successful it was getting an anime, though I guess nothing should have surprised me when my mom was CEO of Tenchido.

Still, it was gonna take some time to get used to one of my friends being a professional light novel author.

“And I’ve realized,” Mashiro-senpai paused, “I’m still just a kid.”

“Well, yeah. We’re all still teenagers.”

“You’re not s’posed to agree! I didn’t mean it literally.” She puffed out her cheeks indignantly, one of her signature moves. Was it one of Makigai Namako-sensei’s signature moves, though? I wasn’t sure... “I’ve worked really hard, trying to defend what’s important to me against all these professionals...”

She took a slow sip of her tomato juice, like she was really tasting it. And then she explained everything that had happened in that first meeting. She told me her work had a vital “backbone” that the anime team wanted to take out. She said she struggled to get her opinions across in an environment where no one really understood her. After spilling her story in drips and drabs, Mashiro-senpai finally giggled.

“I’m being really entitled, huh?” she said.

“I don’t... I mean, you’re the author. So I guess you’re justified?” I replied.

She shook her head. “I know the director and the producer are right, though. But I’m still fighting back pointlessly. I’m not doing anything except wasting people’s time. I’m like a spoiled brat causing issues for her parents.”

It was like she was trying to hurt herself with her words, sharpening her criticism against herself. My heart wept for her just listening. Professionals. Spoiled brat. Issues. Each word became a tiny thorn, stabbing deep into my chest and way beyond my reach.

Mashiro-senpai and I were very similar when it came to stuff like this. We both wanted—needed—to express ourselves more than we were, but we didn’t want to cause problems, make other people hate us, or disappoint anyone. We were scared.

That was why Senpai was the only person I felt able to tease, and he was the only one Mashiro-senpai felt able to act coldly toward.

But things couldn’t stay that way. If we wanted to see what the world had in store for us, we’d need to open up. That dumb, insensitive stuff Senpai said to me at the culture festival finally had meaning. I wanted other people to know just how annoying and charming I could be at the same time. I wanted the world to know me, and that meant exposing myself to it, ready to be hated if that was what it took.

“You should cause issues,” I said.

“Huh?”

“’Cause right now, people are causing issues for you. Like, they’re being annoying.”

“What? That’s not a very professional way of thinking,” she said.

“They are totally gettin’ on your nerves, right? Take it from an expert.”

“Claiming to be an expert in that makes you sound super suspicious.”

“Just like all experts.”

“Now that’s just stereotyping.”

“Look, when I do something to annoy Senpai, he reacts right away,” I said. “I do something, he responds. It might look like we hate each other to outsiders, but I think it helps keep things in balance. It’s all about the conservation of mass.”

“Actually, I think the density of your actions is higher, because you’re always the one who lashes out first...”

“But, Senpai was made to rack up that pain-in-the-ass EXP. He’s forceful, he sees every decision through, and he does whatever it takes to achieve them.”

“Yeah... That’s true.”

“That’s why I think we’re evenly matched. But you’re getting picked on right now, and you’re not giving it back, Mashiro-senpai.”

“If you wanna frame a difference of professional opinion as two idiots pushing each other around, then yeah. You’re right.”

“It’s why you’re all doom and gloom, though, isn’t it? If someone knocks you down, you gotta give it back to ’em. They’re pushing you around, so push them back. That’ll restore the balance.”

I knew my argument was nuts. I also knew it didn’t matter how hard you suppressed how you really felt—those feelings stayed right where they were. Forcing them down and suffering just leads to this situation where people start seeing through you anyway, and then things get kinda awkward.

I knew that because of the years I spent trying to please mom. Now that she knew what I truly wanted, she’d not only accepted it but given me the opportunities to pursue my voicework. And yeah, it was all thanks to Senpai, but I would never have gotten to this point if I’d kept my desires hidden.

“What if they get annoyed at me, though?” Mashiro-senpai asked. “What if they all start hating me and brand me as ‘that one author who’s a pain to work with’?”

I knew exactly where she was coming from. She was so anxious that being herself would lead to failure, she couldn’t take that first step. I was the same. I thought being true to myself would upset mom. I thought I might never see her smile again. These were more than just passing worries.

But they didn’t stop me from continuing my work with Senpai and the Alliance. Because I knew that, no matter what tragedy might lie ahead, he would stick by me. He wouldn’t betray me. He was my safe haven, something I could rely on, the reason I didn’t have to be scared.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

That was Senpai’s gift to me. It was my turn to do the same thing for Mashiro-senpai.

“No matter what these professionals think of you, I’ll always be there for you. So will Senpai, and so will the rest of the Alliance. Your life’s not gonna fall apart just ’cause you ticked off a handful of adults. It’s safe to tick them off.”

“Iroha-chan...” Mashiro-senpai whispered, curling in on herself, anxious.

I put a comforting arm around my friend’s shoulder and squeezed. She may have looked pale, skinny, and cold, but she was warm. Warmer than I ever imagined. It was proof that there was real passion burning inside her.

As much as she said she wanted to stay composed, mature, and strong, the fiery need to protect her story remained aflame. That heat was escaping through the surface of her body. I wanted her to feel like she could let that fire escape. I wanted to be her safe haven, like Senpai was mine.

“It’s gonna be okay, Mashiro-senpai. I’m here for you.”

I was there to validate her, just as she was.

She looked surprised at first, her expression stiff. But then the warmth inside her seemed to seep through, and her features softened.

“Thanks, Iroha-chan. I love you.”

Shyly but firmly, she pulled me into a hug.

Maybe I would have been justified in not supporting her. She was my rival, after all. But I didn’t regret this, and I never would.

Mashiro-senpai was my rival, yes. But Mashiro-senpai was my friend too.

So it was only natural for me to extend a helping hand when she was sad or anxious. Besides, I was confident she would do the same for me if our roles were reversed. We were both vying for Senpai’s affection. If one of us was going to be a mean girl, I didn’t want it to be me.

What, did that sound too calculating? Maybe it was, but as long as it didn’t involve kicking Mashiro-senpai down, I was fine with being crafty. I still wanted everyone to end up happy. That was where the balance existed in our friendship.

We carried on hugging, right up until one—or maybe both—of us got too embarrassed and let go.

Ooboshi Akiteru’s Side

Otoi: thats the progress. Should b good 2 restart updates @ 25

AKI: Thanks.

AKI: Looks like we’ll be able to get that Christmas present to our players as planned.

Otoi: we gonna have a xmas party over here. u in?

I stopped typing, gathered my thoughts, then carried on.

AKI: Nah, it’s still too early. But please let everyone know I’m thinking of them.

Otoi: k

She didn’t bug me about the reason. Otoi-san sure was considerate. But it was probably less about being thoughtful and more that she couldn’t be bothered to ask.

I put my phone down and looked up. The coworker who’d just gone to the bathroom was jogging back to me with a cheerful chirp and a “thanks for waiting.” The red evening sunlight was streaming in through the crystal clear window.

This skyscraper’s first-floor lobby was as spacious as a museum’s, its inhabitants’ voices bouncing off the ceiling. I stood up from the alien-shaped couch (no idea which designer came up with that), and walked up to meet my boss, Kiraboshi Kanaria.

“Five minutes till our appointment. Should we get going?” I asked.

“Yes! I’m ready to raid! Let’s bungee!”

“Maybe tone down the threat levels a bit?”

“You can get away with anything if you say it in a cute enough voice, chirp!”

True.

That said, we were in the main building of a major corporation, and security was tight. I could see them rounding us up for the slightest careless comment.

Where were we exactly? Honeyplace Works’ head office. It was in a prime location right by the train station. The company occupied the entire building, so you already know it was fancy beyond belief. It was more than big enough for tons and tons of employees to work in. It was a majestic place—Honeyplace Works wasn’t shy about the power of its branding—and simply walking in here felt like entering the belly of a giant beast.

“Lose the tension in those tail feathers! You don’t have to make a peep. Just come in with me,” Canary said.

“Right. I’ll use it as a learning opportunity.”

Today was all about Canary. My role was to watch over her as she fought. I was Watson, merely recording Holmes’s activities. I could relax.

Canary picked up a card key at the reception by stating her appointment time and who she was there to see. We used it to ride the elevator up to the specified floor. There were posters and merchandise of the company’s iconic series and monitors showing trailers for their current anime projects and latest games. It felt more like we were waiting for a theme park ride than a company meeting.

We were made to marvel over the impressiveness of the latest video game graphics for some time until an automatic door opened and a male employee approached us. He was a thin man with glasses. He seemed very mild-mannered, half bowing as he walked in a display of politeness.

“Hello, hello. Very sorry to keep you waiting. We’ll use this meeting room here, if you please,” he said, showing us through.

I guess when you had a huge entertainment company, the meeting rooms had to be fancy too. It sure was colorful, what with the monster from a popular RPG drawn on the frosted glass.

“Please have a seat.” The man looked at me. “Now, I don’t believe we’ve met...”

“Ah, excuse me. My name’s Ooboshi Akiteru. I’m Kiraboshi Kanaria-san’s assistant. I’m only working with her temporarily, so I don’t have a card or anything...”

“Not to worry.” The bespectacled man placed a couple of small bottles of water on the table for us before graciously presenting me with his card. “Here’s mine.”

Honeyplace Works

Producer, Negame Taiji

I shot Canary a glance after reading the name. She nodded at me, confirming that this guy was the producer for Snow White. The one she’d told me about. He was a real pro, having scored home run after home run for Honeyplace’s anime department. He was also the player we’d have to pick off in this meeting.

“I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to ask for another meeting right away. You wanted to discuss the script for Snow White, yes?” Negame-san said, sitting across from us and fidgeting as he fired up a laptop. He kept fiddling with his glasses too, shifting them up and down.

An adult. That was my impression of him. He knew what we were here to talk about, but he showed no signs of nervousness. The gaze behind his wiggling glasses only got sharper.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Canary said. “We want the protagonist’s monologue and the depictions of revenge to stick to the source material. We’re looking to make that nonnegotiable.”

“I thought we’d already come to an agreement on that,” he countered quickly. Accurately. “It’s all in the minutes.”

“I’d like to withdraw any agreement that was made. Plans change all the time when it comes to anime production, right?”

“Perhaps, but the director has made his decision, and it can’t be changed now. The director always has the final say in anime.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Does the director really want these changes from the light novel?”

“Of course he does. Was his stance not made clear in the previous meeting?” Negame-san presented it as a statement. He was dauntless.

Dauntless and tough. When negotiating, they said never to let the other side see your weakness. In that sense, this guy was like an iron fortress. No chinks, no holes, no chances. He had this in the bag. Or he would have, against a regular person.

“Sorry, but I don’t think you’re being very honest,” Canary said, dropping the formalities with a cutesy sound effect. Not that it actually sounded, but I was just crazy enough to hear it.

Anyway, that wasn’t the point.

“Excuse me?” Negame-san said. “I know you put on that persona, but I don’t think it’s appropriate to—”

“I got Kowamote-san’s permission, chirp.”

“I’m sorry?” the producer repeated.

It was Canary’s turn to forge ahead. “Like I said, Kowamote-san’s given his permission to have the script stick closer to the source material. See? I’ve got it right here!” She held up her phone.

“I don’t think— Oh. You’re right.”

Canary was showing him her email history with the director. The address was legit. There was no editing to suspect, no shame to be had. It’d hold up as evidence in a court of law.

“Hold on a minute! Did you go over my head to contact the production team?!” He looked awfully indignant.

Canary wagged her finger at him, calm and collected in the face of his anger. “Mitarai-san is aware too.”

“You’ve spoken to him too?!”

“I’ve got the okay from the director, the head writer, the original author, and the publisher. I wonder if you’ve got anything to back up your claim now?”

“You’ve really got my back against the wall... Wh-What’s happening...”

“Weren’t expecting that, were you? Didn’t think so! All your buddies have made a pact behind your back! I bet you’re mad! I bet you wanna chant ‘no count, no count, no count,’ like some old man who lost a bet in an underground labor camp.”

A projectile weapon straight to the back gate. She was being pretty merciless toward someone she was working with professionally. It was a dangerous move that risked losing his trust completely.

That said, Negame-san was in no position to call her out on it. He knew that, and that was why the argument he’d formulated wouldn’t get past his throat.

“Do you see how frustrating it is to have to sit there listening to someone else decide everything for you?” Canary asked.

She was only giving him a taste of his own medicine. Watching from the sidelines, I was amazed at how deftly she handled the situation.

Ever since we had left the hotel, Canary had been moving at light speed. We’d stormed Studio AORI with Kowamote-san’s favorite iced donuts and no appointment, and we’d had a friendly chat over tea and snacks. Mitarai-san was there for a separate meeting, so we got him involved. We had a blast discussing the anime series and movies that were currently out.

It made me think that Canary might make a good hostess. She asked just the right stimulating questions to get them to talk freely, bringing up the perfect topics, giving the best reactions... Not one word or gesture was wasted.

She captured the director’s and the head writer’s heart as successfully as an AI played shogi. She was lovable enough to get right past their defenses. I caught a glimpse of skills that would have any man wrapped around her little finger.

That was how she had drawn out the director’s real opinion. After asking his thoughts about a recent movie that had revenge as its theme, she moved on seamlessly to talking about Snow White. Why were those movie scenes fine, but they couldn’t show the same stuff in Snow White? The answer to that critical question made everything clear.

“You were the one who found the depictions of revenge creepy and wanted to cut them, Negame-san,” Canary continued. “Kowamote-san is a pro. He knows to abide by a producer who feels strongly about something, but he actually wanted to keep the darkness from the source material.”

“B-But the descriptions in the novel are incredibly off-putting. There isn’t a viewer out there who will be able to relate to such a negative protagonist.”

“Could I ask you not to project your personal opinions onto the viewers? You’re just one person. We have tons of readers who like the series’s style. It should be obvious what the more objective viewpoint is here.”

Negame-san faltered.

“You sometimes get these people who’ll mess with the creative process because they want to leave their mark and attach something to their name. Ever read an article about a hit anime? ‘I think the series was able to reach a wider audience because I spoke up and pushed for these changes.’ Now, I know most people in anime production try to act in the best interests of the product. But sometimes you get the more self-serving type. The type whose biggest priority is showing off their skills.”

Negame-san lowered his head without retorting.

A smile spread across Canary’s face. “I don’t think you’re that kinda person, Negame-san, and I don’t think you’d go against the rest of the team. Am I right?”

Game, set, and match. The producer had no choice now but to nod his agreement.

That said, I still had my reservations. Canary was right about him. He had tried to mess with the creative process for his own gain. Though he’d been caught out this time, his methods had already earned him countless achievements. Honestly speaking, he probably just had a rotten personality in general. It scared me to think what Canary might be risking by making an enemy of him.

She spoke up again. “Oh, but there’s no need to worry. Do your job properly, and you’re still guaranteed to come out on top, Negame-san.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll make sure your boss knows what a great job you did.” Canary patted my shoulder then.

Wait, what did I do?

“You’re looking at Tsukinomori-san’s nephew. Can you imagine the boost to your salary?! Your career?! If a relative tells him how fabulous you are? You’ll be rising through the ranks like a rocket!”

“H— Wh— What?! You’re related to Tsukinomori-san, Ooboshi-san?”

“Uh... Y-Yes, I am.”

“I don’t... I don’t believe it!” Negame-san was flailing like the emperor himself had just entered the room.

My relationship to Tsukinomori-san wasn’t something I liked to spread around. In this case, though, I could see how the information would push Negame-san to devote himself to Snow White’s Revenge Classroom.

I looked at Canary next to me. She was wearing such a cheeky smile it was a wonder she wasn’t giggling.

Damn. She used me.

I’d come here to observe and learn. I was supposed to be a fly on the wall, silent as a monk statue.

But she’d cashed in on my presence at the very last moment. I wasn’t just a stone statue after all. Turned out I was imbued with a mysterious power. This trick of Canary’s wasn’t something that a kid would do. She was fighting like an adult after all.

***

And so, we started on our way home from Honeyplace Works.

“I never thought you’d bring up my uncle,” I said. “You could’ve told me ahead of time. I wouldn’t have been mad.”

Canary laughed. “Yeah, sorry about that! If you wanna fool your enemies, you gotta fool your friends first, chirp!”

“I mean, I get the logic...”

“If I had told you beforehand, you wouldn’t have been able to act so innocently birdbrained. But maybe you’re a better actor than I give you credit for?”

I paused. “I’d say I’m an average actor.”

“There you go. I needed you to react naturally. If I’d told you my plan, you woulda gone in there with your plumage all plumped up, and Negame-san would never have let his guard down. You had to come across as unassuming—the kind of nephew who could be trusted to share his positive perceptions of people with his uncle. He would’ve felt like he was trapped in a birdcage if you were just as devious as me! His defenses would’ve been all the way up, and then I wouldn’t have been able to trap him for real, chirp!”

“You sure put a lot of thought into this. I guess there’s a thin line between genius and insanity after all, Canary-san.”

She was right, though. I must have come across as a totally naive kid the moment she brought up my uncle. Negame-san probably thought I was some greenhorn who didn’t even know what the word nepotism meant. Though I wasn’t entirely happy with the situation, it would be worth it if it meant Makigai Namako-sensei’s story got a faithful adaptation.

Hold on a second...

“You didn’t need me,” I said. “Think about who’s writing Snow White. ‘Tsukinomori’ Mashiro. Wouldn’t it have been more effective to use his actual daughter?”

“Well, y’see, no one involved actually knows that Makigai Namako-sensei is Tsukinomori-san’s daughter.”

“Really?”

“He made sure of it. People know he’s got a hand in the project, but no one knows that it’s because it’s a relative’s work. I’m sure the shareholders would have something to say if it came out, and then you’d get the people hooting about favoritism.”

“Huh.”

I guess even a CEO wasn’t free to do whatever they wanted. But it made sense. As a company president, other people’s perceptions of you were super important. No one was going to follow you if they thought you were untrustworthy.

Trust, huh?

The word sent me on a long trail of thought. Canary’s past and how it influenced how she worked now. The professional business world and what I’d experienced of it during my short time there.

Everyone had had trouble and drama on their way to adulthood, and it made them who they were today. Everyone had a history of inexperience and failure. That inexperience didn’t go away just because they grew up. It stayed with them forever.

Usually, the memories of that time were kept locked up inside a tough shell, which was also brittle enough to let them out when you least expected it. There were only a select few people who you could be comfortable sharing those memories with.

Some people valued the relationships they had with those around them to the extent they put a lid on their true selves. Others couldn’t resist the temptation of career success and forgot about where they started. And then there were those who purposely put a lock on their past failures and buried them deep inside.

These were the ways in which people hid themselves away and masked themselves as perfect adults.

If I was right about that, then the most capable adults were those like Canary. Today, she’d displayed the ability to reach people’s hearts when they were kept under maximum security. If she couldn’t win their trust just like that, she’d plant the seeds that would move things in her desired direction.

Amachi Otoha was the same now I thought of it. She’d used those capabilities on her own family, which distorted the bonds between them. But as a leader, that was just the talent, just the ability, that she needed.

The same went for Tsukinomori-san. For Mizuki-san. For Kiraboshi Kanaria.

What about me, then? I recognized I could be high-handed. I liked to think I could reach people’s hearts. But I wasn’t like those leaders.

All I really did was meddle in the lives of my fellow Alliance members. If I really wanted to grow, to win Otoha-san’s trust, to get her permission to manage Iroha again...I’d have to storm her heart. The heart of such a daunting adult.

“Canary-san,” I said.

“What’s up? Had a brain wave?”

“Yeah. And it’s all thanks to you.” I bowed deeply. “I’d like to step down from my position at UZA Bunko, starting now.”

“Yup. Not surprised.” Canary laughed.

I knew that the editorial department was low on staff and that I was putting her in a tough spot. Still, it took courage to come out with it, and she was generous enough to accept my resignation with a smile and not probe for the reason.

“I’ll keep pitching in until you find a replacement. Small stuff, like helping with your streams and other odd jobs. But I’d like to be excused from working directly at the editorial department.”

“You’re one of those migratory birds, huh? Where are you flying off to?”

My answer only went to show how much of a fearless idiot I was. I gave it anyway. “I’m going to see Amachi-san.”

“You’re gonna work for Tenchido? I don’t know if they take high schoolers...”

“Not work for them, no. That’d be pointless.”

A temporary post wouldn’t get me anywhere near the CEO. Actually, not even a permanent employee probably ever saw her. But I had an idea.

A secret passage. One that only I had the key to, and would allow me to reach her in record time.

Iroha. My fellow Alliance members. Just you wait.

I’m gonna pull this off. No matter what.

***

“I just wanna raise the point that he never mentioned me when he was listing ‘capable’ adults.”

“Well, you’re way younger than the people he mentioned. You’re in your twenties, your prime. That oughta put a smile on your face.”

“Some people don’t get a prime! Like how a teacher you’re terrified of might just be a totally normal otaku behind the scenes!”

“I don’t think the words ‘normal’ and ‘otaku’ should be next to each other.”

“Now that’s just cruel! Otaku just means you know how to appreciate stuff that should be appreciated, no matter who you are or where you come from!”

“Speaking of stuff to appreciate, Iroha and Tsukinomori-san seemed to be getting along pretty well there.”

“Huh?”

“Two girls just... Well, it’s popular at the moment, right?”

“Hold it right there, Ozuma-kun! You gotta be careful what you say! You don’t know what kinda disaster you’re about to create!”

“I’m just saying, two girls who like the same guy have got to really understand each other.”

“Y-Yeah, but you get people who will be mad upset about a guy being there at all! You’re walking through a minefield, Ozuma-kun!”

“Y’know, that complaint sounds awfully familiar.”

“Just goes to show how sensitive a topic it is! Some things you just don’t talk about. But, since you brought it up, there is a lotta stuff to appreciate there. But if we’re going with IroMashi, then any guys you throw in the mix kinda put a downer on the whole thing. Plus, I’ve spent so long fantasizing about Aki and Iroha-chan, or Aki and Mashiro-chan, that I dunno if I can handle a new challenger... GAAAAH! My brain cells are crumbling as we speak!”

“This is a real problem for you, huh? You’d make a great biology case study, Murasaki Shikibu-sensei.”

“Help me, Ozuma-kun. Shipping is my life. So how am I s’posed to feel about this new development?”

“Why not just get excited?”

Epilogue: Meeting with the CEO

“I’m not sure how I feel about you inviting a wife and mother on a Christmas date, you know.”

“This isn’t a date, and there’s nothing romantic whatsoever about a yakiniku restaurant.”

The air was filled with the crackling of meat and the smell of oil. They were playing Asian folk songs through the speakers, not “Jingle Bells.” Even though we had a private room, we could hear the other guests through the walls, and most of them were in groups.

I had yet to spot a lovey-dovey couple around here. If I had to find something Christmassy about this place, it was in the red of the meat and the white of the beef fat. Merry Christmas.

Iroha and Mashiro would probably beat me up for such a lame joke—for being “insensitive” and tell me I deserved to “die in a fire.”

Either way, I wasn’t on a date. I was in a tiny room with Amachi Otoha. And yeah, she looked too young to be my friend’s mom, while still having the sex appeal of a more mature woman.

So there were some alarm bells there.

Unfortunately for her, though, I wasn’t depraved enough to get hot and bothered in the middle of an important boss fight.

The meat on the wire mesh sent up a layer of white smoke. I saw Amachi-san’s eyes soften on the other side.

“I hear you vanished without a trace,” she said.

“You knew about that?”

“My daughter was very upset. She was talking about you at the family dinner table. Goodness, it got me so jealous! Not very mature of me, is it?”

That was rich coming from the woman who had torn us apart. Obviously I didn’t say that, and I kept myself expressionless.

“I was working at UZA Bunko and wasn’t able to see anyone.”

“Oh!”

“It may not be a video games company, but it does oversee expensive multimedia projects. I gained some valuable work experience.”

“You clearly have some very special connections.”

“You’re one of them, of course. And I know it’s not like my short stint at a publishing company would have taught me absolutely everything. But I did get to liaise with authors and contacts in the entertainment industry. I even did some management for a popular streamer.”

“A streamer? What has that got to do with publishing?”

“Have you heard of Kiraboshi Kanaria?” I asked.

“Aaah. So she’s your friend in the company. I see.” Amachi-san put a hand to her cheek and let out a half-hearted hum.

Now that the meat had started picking up some color, I took it and put it on the CEO’s plate. It was my duty as the lesser in this relationship.

“So basically, I’ve taken all that experience, and now I want to ask for a favor from you,” I said.

“A favor from a married woman on Christmas? Why, my heart’s pounding!”

“I meant a professional favor.”

What type of work experience did she think I’d been doing if that was where her mind went? I had to force the conversation back from the brink of manga-flavored fantasies and back into reality.

I kept my tone earnest, straightforward, and resolute.

“Would you allow me to assist you?” I asked.

The air crackled with popping meat juices and a calorific aroma. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the mental space to enjoy that fragrance right now. A layer of sweat formed on my temple as I waited for Amachi-san to chew and swallow her mouthful of meat.

She did so, then took a sip of her oolong tea. Her narrow eyes, which usually concealed the pupils from view, widened ever so slightly.

“This is a real shame, Ooboshi-kun. What fun we could have had if this were a date, or a friendly catch-up between neighbors. But trying to aim above your capabilities and stick your nose into the world of work isn’t just charmless. It’s a nuisance.”

“I’ve had real-world experience. You can think of me as a secretary, a low-level clerk, a slave—whatever you want.”

“I don’t require any of those things. I wonder if you know Tenchido’s enterprise value? There are people who would pay to work for us. Why would we want to hire an amateur with so little experience?”

“I hear there are labor shortages everywhere right now.”

“There is a shortage of qualified personnel. However, Tenchido offers an ideal working environment. We have rock-bottom turnover and countless applications for each post. Everyone wants in and no one wants out. There’s no space for you, Ooboshi-kun.”

“Are you completely sure about that?”

Puzzled, Amachi-san cocked her head to one side. “Sure about what, exactly? I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you what sort of company Tenchido is.”

“How’s Iroha’s voicework going?”

“Perfectly well, of course. She’s honing her skills with an efficient lesson schedule, she’s applying herself to new challenges, and she already has an audition for an anime booked in.”

“You’ve got to be awfully busy as a CEO, though. I’m sure you don’t attend every recording and lesson she has.”

Amachi-san frowned at my obvious attempt to change the subject. Her expression told me everything I needed to know and confirmed what I’d vaguely suspected. This was my chance.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a manager for Iroha to take care of that stuff?”

The meat on the grill had turned black, burned. Neither Amachi-san nor I touched it. We continued to stare at each other as I started to probe.

“I don’t know the reason, Amachi-san, but you have a distrust of show business and the entertainment industry, don’t you? You took over as Iroha’s manager because you want to protect her from the demons running rampant in the show business world.” Which led to my next point. “You don’t have any employees you feel able to entrust your precious daughter to, do you?”

Amachi-san started.

This whole thing was very simple. When a business wanted to launch a project, it needed manpower. However, its staff would already be busy with other projects, so you couldn’t just assign them to something brand-new the very next day.

Obviously if the CEO demanded it, it would happen. But then, it wasn’t something a decent CEO could do.

A sudden reshuffling risked annoying staff even at newer firms, so Amachi-san assigning someone out of nowhere to look after her own daughter would give off a terrible impression. It was the same reason Tsukinomori-san was overseeing Snow White’s anime without telling anyone his daughter was the author for the source material. Amachi-san couldn’t leave Iroha’s management to anyone inside her own company.

So who could she trust?

It would have to be a new vacancy with a proper job description, something to attract employees for this new subsection of her business. But there was a problem with that too.

“So, what kind of people do you get applying to be a voice acting manager partway through their working life?” I asked.

“Anyone with the relevant experience would have already worked as a manager in show business.”

“And if you didn’t require experience, it would be like pulling from a gacha full of total strangers. You could end up handing Iroha over to a total sleazebag looking to take advantage of her.”

“So you think you’re a suitable candidate, Ooboshi-kun?”

“I can’t promise to be as competent as someone with real experience, but I can do odd jobs and I’m a quick learner. I’ve worked with Iroha for close to three years, and I haven’t done anything that might concern you within that time.”

I could hear Iroha shouting in my head: “You passed over, like, a zillion opportunities! What kinda man are you?!”

I ignored her. I was happy to be laughed at for being a wuss. My safety record was clean enough to be recognized at the national level, and that was the most attractive thing I could bring to this table.

“Didn’t you promise me to step down as producer?”

“Right. And I’m not planning to get involved in that side of things. You are Iroha’s producer now. I’ll be more of a clerk who helps to manage her out on location. I’ll stick rigidly to my role and do only as I’m told, just like a robot. How does that sound?”

Amachi-san paused. “You don’t have any ulterior motives, like wanting to be closer to Iroha-chan?”

“None whatsoever.” I shook my head. I could have come back with something wittier, but there was no point. I had to remain as serious as could be. “In fact, I want to know more about you, Amachi Otoha-san.”

“You want to know about me, not my daughter?”

I just about managed to hold it together, despite the potentially dirty undertones. I’d sure appreciate it if she could stop phrasing things in funny ways to try and get me to slip up.

I endured. I remained an earnest gentleman. I couldn’t be too quick to crack a smile if I wanted to gain her trust. I needed her to see that I was rational and efficient, that I was exactly what her team was missing.

“I want to become the sort of person you’d want for your daughter. That’s why I want to stick close to you and learn what I can. I want to know how you think and what path you walked to get where you are today,” I said.

Amachi-san exhaled, melting the tension between us. “Oh dear, the meat is burned... That’s bitter...”

“Ah! S-Sorry! I got so wrapped up in our conversation I forgot about it!” Panicking, I moved the burned meat over to an empty plate. The wire underneath was jet-black. We’d need to get one of the staff to switch it out for us.

“Very well.”

At some point, while I moved the meat, pressed the button to call a waiter, and was generally frantic, Amachi-san had broken into a smile.

“I’ll hire you, Ooboshi-kun. Just know that I never accept compromises when it comes to my work.”

There was a challenge in that smile. It was practically screaming: “Bring it on.”

“If you can’t keep up with the demands of the job, you’ll be fired there and then. Make sure you’re prepared for that.”

“Thank you!” I gave an enthusiastic bow, a show of total loyalty. Inside, my heart was blazing.

If she wanted to work me to the bone, that was fine by me. I’d do every last thing she demanded of me, whether that meant walking over hot coals or crawling through a swamp.

Just you wait, Amachi Otoha. I’ll get closer to you than anyone before me, and I’ll make you trust me so deeply you’ll never trust anyone else again.

Epilogue 2: Homecoming

“I never knew something could feel nostalgic after just two months,” I said to myself, looking up at what should have been the most familiar apartment block in the world to me.

It was December 25th, Christmas Day. I’d come straight here after my yakiniku-flavored job interview with Amachi-san on Christmas Eve. From the ground, the five-story building looked smaller than before. Maybe going to Canary’s tower block every day had messed up my perception.

Or maybe this was proof I’d matured.

I looked up at my apartment window on the fifth floor. The light was on. Otoi-san had told me they’d be having a party to celebrate both Koyagi coming off hiatus and Christmas all in one, though the soundproofing for the windows was so good that I couldn’t hear any of it.

The other thing was that it had started snowing. The flakes were piling up on my head, little by little, as I stood outside.

Yeah, I was cold.

My coat was like a drop in the ocean. And thinking of the ocean was only making me colder. People spoke about a white Christmas like it was the most romantic thing, when in reality it was just freezing. So, why wasn’t I heading inside? Why was I just standing here?

Truth is...

The glass window slid open, and someone stepped out onto the veranda. Even the dark, snowy sky seemed to make her amber hair glow. You really could spot my kouhai from a mile away, as annoying as it was. She was like the sun. Leaning her arms on the railing, she looked down at me. She held her phone in one hand. My phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Sup, Senpai?”

“H-Hey. Um, I guess it’s been a while, huh?”

“Is that all you’ve got to say? There’s gotta be something else, considering you vanished without warning and left me all alone.”

“Right. Well, where do I start? Wait, no— First—” I was shivering from the cold. “Could you let me in?”

“No way. You stay out there and think about what you’ve done!”

Yup. The reason I was still standing out here was that no one would unlock the door for me! Iroha had opened it, seen me raise a hand and say hi, and then slammed it shut, locked it, and put the chain on.

Make it make sense! I lived there! Why wasn’t I allowed in?!

Though I complained till I was blue in the face, I deserved it according to Iroha. Well, I guess I could agree with that. I did up and leave, just like that. And I came back with zero warning too. I deserved her anger.

I stood outside apologizing to her over LIME for a while till she at last sent me a message saying she’d let me in. Since then, I’d been waiting outside like a dog shut out of the house and waiting for its owner to show some mercy. And boy, was it cold.

“So, what made you think that just maybe it was time to come home, huh?”

“I’ll be happy to tell you the whole story inside. It’s a serious one too.”

“Nope. Tell me over the phone right now.”

“Oh, come on...”

I was on the ground and she was up on the fifth floor. It felt weird to be speaking over the phone when we could both see each other’s faces. It reminded me of a scene out of Rapunzel or Romeo and Juliet.

The only difference being that this was no romantic rendezvous. It was the story of a poor guy begging to be let back into the warmth.

“I completed my training, and now I’ve made it to the next stage. So I decided to come home.”

“What’s the next stage?”

“Being your manager.”

She paused. “What?”

“Otoha-san—well, Amachi-san—has officially hired me. I start work tomorrow. I’ll be organizing your schedule and coming with you to your recordings, auditions, and other events. I heard you’re doing some VTubing now too? I can moderate your streams for you.” I had plenty of experience now, after all.

Iroha didn’t say anything, but I could hear her hemming and hawing through the phone. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction. I couldn’t make out her expression from down here either, what with my perfectly average vision. Her cheeks might have been a little pink, but it could easily have been my imagination. Or the cold.

“Jeez... Senpai, you’re such a...a...”

“Yeah?”

“Okay, so one second you’re sayin’ you’re stepping down, and then you come back like nothing’s happened, deciding you wanna be my manager?! You’re like a teenager who ran away from home! Like a baseball player who says he’s heading for the big leagues, then comes back to rejoin his local team two days later.”

“Slow down a sec. You’re making this sound like a bad thing. And hey, that baseball player should be free to decide what he wants to do with his own life.”

“He’s free, yeah, but you’re not, Senpai!”

“Well, excuse me!”

“You are so indecisive. You’re so useless, Senpai!” Iroha raged. Not being able to see her face, I could only imagine how angry—or maybe exasperated—she looked.

“Otoha-san’s going to be your actual producer. I’m just organizing what she decides for you and dealing with all the admin stuff. Feel free to push me around. So, uh, what I’m saying is...I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Iroha threw something at me. “Seriously, Senpai. I guess I will push you around, since you’re insisting so hard!”

The object drew an arc through the air before fluttering down. I caught it one-handed. It was a hand warmer. Warmth spread over my palm. It was like a blessing from the heavens for a guy standing out in the snow.

I guess this means she forgives me?

“Th-Thanks,” I said.

“Since you’re spending Christmas all alone, I thought I’d give you a pity present.”

“What, this?” She couldn’t have sprung for something a tiny bit more expensive?

“Huh? Is that ingratitude I hear? Nah, it couldn’t be. After all, you’re my manager, and you have to do everything I say.”

“I didn’t say everything. I said I’d be helping out with admin.”

“Oh, huh. But isn’t upsetting me gonna get you fired?”

“T-True. Listen, though, Iroha. I know you well enough to know you’re just messing around right now. You’re not actually gonna treat me like crap, are you?”

“Hey, I would’ve been a perfect angel if you hadn’t just walked out on us.”

“Wh...”

She was seriously going to hold a grudge against me for leaving her be for a measly two months?! Okay, so I admit it wasn’t entirely fair of me, but still. I didn’t realize it’d be such a vital misplay.

Iroha giggled through the phone. “Whew, I can’t wait! My time to shine is now! Prepare to get pushed around super hard, Senpai!”

“Hnnngh! You know what, fine! Bring it on!”

I’d come too far to do anything but just take whatever came my way. I would get Amachi-san to recognize me, even if I had to put up with Iroha’s nonsense all the while. It was set to be quite the trial, and it was a pit of fire I’d chosen to walk right into...but I was ready. I’d do anything she asked me to.

“I’m not gonna waste any time and give you your first task now, Senpai.”

“Lay it on me!”

“Get in here, Scumbag-senpai.”

“...What?”

“I’m gonna need a better reaction than that. Dogs are s’posed to come when they’re called! Here, I’ll unlock the door.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Everyone’s waiting. I’ve even got a Christmas present for you. A proper one.” With that, Iroha hung up the phone, turned around, and vanished inside.

“Thanks, Iroha,” I said quietly, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me anymore. With gratitude in my heart, I gripped the warmth in my hand and jogged up to the building entrance.

Afterword

Hello, this is author mikawaghost. Thank you for purchasing the latest volume of My Friend’s Little Sister Has It In for Me (ImoUza for short) Volume 11! I’m very sorry for how long it’s been between volumes. It took a long time for more news to come out about the anime too, and I’m sure it’s been keeping you anxious.

There were some factors out of my control (even as the author) that I wasn’t able (read: allowed) to explain, which I feel really sorry for. Instead, I focused on getting this volume out to you as soon as I could. Now I’ve got my apologies out of the way, I hope you’ll let me switch gear and talk about some fun stuff. ImoUza is a fun series, so I want you to enjoy the afterword too.

So, welcome to the fun zone! This was the volume’s premise: “Akiteru’s missing from the Alliance?! What’s going to happen now?!” I wonder how you all found that? I bet no one expected this to be such a deep dive into Canary either. I’ve had these scenes in my head ever since she was introduced, and now I’ve finally been able to write them.

ImoUza might be a romcom filled with cute girls, but it’s also a classic story of the protagonist—Akiteru’s—growth. As a producer, he’s far from being on the same level as the professional adults in the field, and so he studies Canary’s work, learns about her novice mistakes, and takes another step toward his true potential. Even the people we admire the most started out at the bottom. Even the ones like Canary who seem to be incapable of making mistakes but are also super cringe...chirp.

Akiteru’s next target is Amachi Otoha! Will he be able to get in close to her and steal her heart? Stay tuned! (But keep your mind out of the gutter!)

Time for the acknowledgments.

To my illustrator, Tomari-sensei. Thank you, as always, for your fantastic illustrations! The cover art with Iroha in her fuzzy scarf is just adorable! There’s nothing quite as warming as being teased on a winter’s day. And at last, the anime will be screening this year. I look forward to continuing our work together on the series.

To Hiraoka Hira-sensei, who takes care of the manga version. To see that the manga’s serialization continued while the light novel was stalled was a massive source of encouragement for me! I’ve been especially enjoying Sasara’s lively antics while looking forward to and reading each installment.

To my editor, Nuru-san, to the editorial staff and everyone involved at GA Bunko, and everyone involved in the anime production. You always do so much for me, and I’m incredibly grateful. I’m looking forward to our continued work together.

Finally and most importantly, thank you to all my readers.

That’s all from me,

mikawaghost