Judging by the magazine covers scattered across the Literary Club's table, Kuroha Akira had apparently stumbled into the golden age of shonen manga. The three great "migrant worker manga" were running simultaneously—titles so ubiquitous that even overworked laborers with zero free time recognized their characters.
The term "migrant worker manga" wasn't meant as an insult, incidentally. It was the highest compliment—proof that a series had penetrated so deeply into popular consciousness that it reached demographics who normally never touched comics.
What fascinated Kuroha most was how these familiar titles diverged from his memories. The character designs remained recognizable, spiritual successors to the versions etched in his brain. But the plot developments had branched onto entirely different paths, to the point where they qualified as alternate universe retellings. IF routes of beloved classics.
Which meant he got to experience them again for the first time.
The prospect excited him more than he'd expected.
"Can I borrow some of these to read at home?" He gestured at the manga stack, already mentally calculating how many volumes his backpack could hold.
Asato Hitomi glanced up from her position by the window, where she'd settled with a textbook. "Of course. Moe brings them specifically to share with others—that's why she's gradually accumulated so many here. Unfortunately, the Literary Club only has three members, and neither Shiori nor I read much manga..." A thoughtful pause. "If Moe learns you're interested, she'll probably be thrilled."
"Excellent. Then I won't stand on ceremony." Kuroha began selecting volumes with the focused intensity of a bargain hunter at a year-end sale. "I'll mention it to Aizono-san when she arrives."
Ten books should suffice for now. Enough to sample first volumes from several promising series and identify which deserved deeper investment.
...
After scavenging the manga section, Kuroha's attention shifted to the adjacent novel shelf. His backpack still gaped half-empty, begging to be filled.
"These belong to Shirai-san, correct?" He didn't need confirmation—the selection spoke for itself.
"Yes. Can you tell?"
"Absolutely. They radiate her aesthetic."
Which meant: approximately fifty percent youth angst literature, heavy on flowery descriptions and light on substantive content. The kind of works that made Kuroha's eyes glaze over within paragraphs—all mood, no meat. He bypassed them without hesitation.
Below that tier sat the heavyweights. Dazai Osamu, Mishima Yukio, Akutagawa Ryunosuke, Kawabata Yasunari—the literary giants whose names commanded respect even from those who'd never read them. Further down, foreign authors: Zhou Shuren, Hugo, Camus, Hemingway, Tagore, Dostoevsky.
Kuroha had consumed all these classics in his previous life. Not just the words, but the aftertaste they left behind—that peculiar sensation of having glimpsed something vast and terrible. The shock of recognition when literature dissected human nature so thoroughly that the reader felt exposed, seen, understood in ways that bordered on uncomfortable.
Works of this caliber existed on a plane Kuroha couldn't hope to reach. He accepted this with the same calm resignation he applied to most immutable facts. Some mountains you admired from base camp; attempting to climb them would only break you.
What surprised him was the substantial Zhong Huajia section. The titles and author names were unfamiliar, but their placement alongside literary giants suggested comparable stature. The mysterious Eastern Great Power had apparently achieved even more impressive cultural heights in this world than in his previous life.
And some were original Chinese novels without translation.
How convenient.
Hanization—the ability to read and understand Chinese—ranked among Kuroha's few genuine "birth-given talents." No skill purchase required. No talent development necessary. Just the fortunate accident of previous-life fluency.
"Can I borrow these too?" He gestured at the collection.
"You'll need to ask Shiori about those." Asato Hitomi's tone carried gentle warning. "She treasures them immensely. She even wears gloves while reading—treats books like they're her own husband."
"I doubt she'd treat an actual husband with that much care."
If forced to choose between lifelong companionship with literature versus a handsome man, Shirai Shiori would select the books without hesitation. Kuroha was certain of this.
The realization that she already disliked him provided unexpected freedom. When you're already in the negative, further deductions barely register. Grinning with the wicked delight of a man with nothing to lose, Kuroha began plundering Shirai's novel collection.
"Technically, these books reside in the Literary Club, making them club resources." He piled volumes into his bag with cheerful abandon. "As a club member, I'm entitled to utilize said resources. Isn't that right, Class Monitor?"
Asato Hitomi's expression blended helplessness with indulgence—the look of someone watching a mischievous child they couldn't bring themselves to scold. A touch of fondness softened her features.
"I can't do anything with you..." A pause. "If Shiori genuinely gets angry, I'll help mediate."
"Relax, Class Monitor. I'll handle it myself."
Eight more books joined his collection, mostly domestic novels. He was genuinely curious about what heights Chinese literature had achieved in this timeline.
"By the way, did you contribute any books, Class Monitor?"
"Hmm..." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I bought the bookshelf, though."
"Perfect! As expected, you're the Literary Club's cornerstone."
"Oh please, Kuroha-kun. Are you making fun of me?"
"As the grade's last-place student, I'm hardly qualified to mock the first-place Class Monitor, am I?" He grinned, deflecting the accusation with self-deprecation.
"You don't need to flatter me. I know I've read fewer extracurricular books than most." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's not that I dislike reading—I simply spend more time on study materials. I rarely read works that cultivate character."
"You really love studying, don't you?"
"It's what Mother advised. She said there will be plenty of time to enjoy good books as an adult, but student years should focus on academics. Each age has its priorities. I think Mother is right, so I concentrate on academic performance..."
A mama's girl, Kuroha noted. But not the mindlessly obedient type.
Instead, the Class Monitor's mother had cultivated obedience through superior logic—reasoning, presenting facts, using "correct arguments" and "real-world examples" to guide her intelligent daughter toward the "proper path."
Then she'd tell Asato Hitomi: "You choose."
But was it truly a choice?
When the correct path had been clearly illuminated, when all evidence pointed toward one direction, would a smart child stubbornly choose the wrong one?
As long as the Class Monitor remained a "good girl," she would never "choose incorrectly."
This was the invisible pressure of maternal expectation. A subtler form of control, dressed in reason and wrapped in love. The Class Monitor's mother was truly a master of manipulation—the kind who could shape a child's entire worldview without ever issuing a direct order.
If this continued, Asato Hitomi's rebellious phase would probably never arrive. She'd remain a "good daughter who listens to mother" indefinitely, eventually becoming one of those unoriginal girls with "no thoughts of her own," only knowing "the correct thoughts."
The thought saddened Kuroha more than he expected.
He wanted the Class Monitor to find "things she wanted to do," not merely "things she should do."
This concern for a friend prompted unusually earnest advice.
"It's true that students should prioritize studying." He chose his words carefully. "But you should also enjoy the present. Some works are meant to be read at specific ages. If you wait until you're older, you'll miss the unique insights that belong to youth."
Asato Hitomi's eyes widened slightly, considering this.
"I see... Kuroha-kun makes a lot of sense." A slow smile spread across her features. "Then I'll try reading some extracurricular books. Do you have any recommendations?"
"Not yet." He patted his newly acquired stack. "Ask me after I've finished these."
"Alright, it's a deal. I'll wait for Kuroha-kun."
She accepted with genuine anticipation, her heart light with expectation.
Kuroha felt relieved. It wasn't too late to start. Let the Class Monitor begin exploring her own heart—just as she'd wanted to save the Literary Club out of genuine desire rather than obligation. Do what you want to do.
What Kuroha didn't realize was that Asato Hitomi had already found a new life goal.
And he was the reason.
The starting point of this goal was twisted. The values it pursued were equally distorted.
He had become the second person—after Asato Hitomi's mother—to significantly shape her personality. But where Mother's influence pushed toward correctness, Kuroha's pull was something else entirely.
In fact, Kuroha Akira's words now carried more weight in Asato Hitomi's heart than her mother's ever had. When conflicts arose between their guidance, she found herself prioritizing his perspective.
This influence would continue, shaping her future path. Making what was "right" no longer align with what was "correct."
The proper road Asato Hitomi had always followed now forked unexpectedly.