The door slid open with its characteristic rattle, and Aizono Moe stepped into the Literary Club activity room, followed closely by Shirai Shiori. The afternoon light caught them in profile, creating a scene that wouldn't have looked out of place in a carefully storyboarded anime establishing shot.
Aizono Moe's steps faltered the moment she spotted Kuroha Akira. Her gaze darted sideways, checking Shirai Shiori's reaction with the nervous energy of someone expecting an explosion.
Yesterday's shoe-throwing incident had genuinely frightened her. In all their time together, she'd never seen Shiori lose control like that—never witnessed the calm, composed girl transform into someone capable of launching footwear with lethal intent. The memory still made her heart race.
Personally, Aizono Moe harbored no negative feelings toward Kuroha Akira. Yes, his sudden hand-holding yesterday had startled her, but beneath that surprise lurked something else—a flicker of excitement at his invitation. Having her illustrations appear in an actual light novel represented everything she'd dreamed about since discovering her passion for art.
But Shiori's violent reaction complicated everything.
Perhaps she thought Kuroha-san was lying? Deceiving them somehow?
Yet Hitomi-chan had brought him... and Hitomi-chan was trustworthy. Right?
The logic looped endlessly in her head without reaching resolution. Aizono Moe knew her limitations—reading people's intentions had never been her strength. She eventually surrendered the mental effort, deciding to leave judgment to Hitomi-chan and Shiori.
To her surprise, Shirai Shiori showed no reaction at all. Her expression remained its usual unreadable mask as she walked to her usual spot, deposited her bag, and surveyed the books scattered across the table.
"Are you... organizing?" The question emerged flat, neither welcoming nor hostile.
Kuroha had removed his selected manga and novels from the shelves but hadn't yet packed them—common courtesy demanded owner permission before appropriation. However, instead of addressing Shirai's question directly, he pivoted toward Aizono Moe with a smile that could only be described as strategic.
"Ah, Aizono-san, perfect timing." His voice adopted an almost exaggerated friendliness. "May I borrow these manga to read at home? I promise absolutely no damage or dirt. They'll receive better treatment than my school textbooks."
Aizono Moe's brain short-circuited.
"Y-yes! Please use me (my manga) as you wish!"
The missing noun transformed her response from innocent permission into something... significantly more suggestive.
....
Kuroha's mouth opened automatically, a sarcastic retort already forming—but Asato Hitomi's earlier reaction flashed through his memory. The class monitor's silent disappointment. He swallowed hard, physically forcing the words back down.
Meanwhile, Aizono Moe processed her verbal misstep. Embarrassment flooded her features with the speed of a tidal wave. Unlike someone who could laugh off such mistakes, her shy nature demanded immediate clarification—clarification that only made everything worse.
"Ah, no, that's not what I meant!" Her hands waved frantically, attempting to physically erase the implication. "What I meant was... those manga, Kuroha-kun, you can freely use them... Ugh..."
Mid-explanation, her embarrassment tolerance reached its absolute limit. Both hands flew up to cover her face as a mortified sound escaped her lips—the kind of noise that in manga would be accompanied by visible steam rising from bright red cheeks.
Kuroha found himself genuinely uncertain how to proceed. Extremely introverted girls existed outside his usual social repertoire. His preferred conversational toolkit—sarcasm, teasing, mockery—would clearly backfire catastrophically here. Only sincere, straightforward speech remained, which felt almost suffocatingly restrictive.
"Haha... Well, thank you anyway, Aizono-san." The forced laugh emerged awkward even to his own ears.
He pivoted quickly toward the novels, desperate to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere.
"And Shirai-san, I'm borrowing these novels too, right?"
Notice the linguistic shift. Not "may I borrow" but "I'm borrowing... right?" The difference was deliberate—a statement dressed as a question, an assumption wearing the costume of permission. Rogue behavior, pure and simple.
Shirai Shiori's expression didn't flicker. She examined the selected volumes with clinical detachment before responding in her characteristic monotone.
"...Whatever. Take them if you want. I brought those books to share with everyone." A pause, deliberate and pointed. "You are, for now, a temporary member of the Literary Club. You're eligible to borrow club resources."
The emphasis on "temporary" carried weight—a verbal boundary marker, a reminder that acceptance remained incomplete. Others might welcome him, but Shirai Shiori had not yet lowered her walls. This was her final stubbornness, her last stand against the inevitable.
Kuroha found himself unexpectedly impressed by her generosity.
He'd entered prepared for conflict, ready to deploy his usual arsenal of annoyance tactics. But Shirai Shiori wasn't petty. Her book-treasuring habits resembled a clean freak's compulsions—personal preference rather than sacred reverence. Truly important volumes wouldn't have left her home in the first place.
A literary girl like her probably maintained three separate collections: reading copies, collector's editions, and proselytizing copies for sharing. These club books fell into the final category—important enough to share, not so precious that lending risked emotional devastation.
If he genuinely wanted to provoke her, he'd need to escalate dramatically. Tear pages in front of her. Deface covers. Commit atrocities against paper and binding.
Even Kuroha couldn't stoop that low.
Books deserved better. In his previous life, he'd collected physical copies of favorite works despite primarily reading digitally—there was something deeply satisfying about watching shelves gradually fill, like planting seeds and watching them grow. Figurines for the soul.
"But return them when finished." Shirai's voice cut through his reverie. "Those books now belong to the Literary Club. They cannot become personal property."
"Isn't that obvious?" Kuroha snorted. "What, you think I'll sell them?"
"If you dare sell them, I'll dismantle you and sell the pieces."
The death threat emerged with such flat delivery that its viciousness almost didn't register. Almost.
"Hah..." Kuroha rubbed his neck reflexively. "Well, for my body's sake, I'll treat them with proper respect. Is there a return deadline?"
"...Just a reminder. Read as long as needed, but if someone else requests them, return promptly."
"No problem."
Despite her general disdain for Kuroha's attitude toward creative work, Shirai Shiori maintained compartmentalized judgment. One thing at a time. Books were books, and on this subject, she trusted him.
He'd spent an entire semester reading in the library without incident, always reshelving properly—unlike certain students who abandoned materials on tables like literary litter. More importantly, he never borrowed books, eliminating concerns about late returns or forgotten obligations.
The memory of delinquent borrowers still made her blood pressure spike. Students who checked out books and forgot them entirely, only responding when tracked down with the shameless excuse: "Sorry, I forgot I even had these... Haha, can you extend the due date? I still want to finish them..."
At those moments, Shirai Shiori wanted to slap them.
How did their brains function?!
How could someone forget books they'd personally selected and borrowed?!
And if they hadn't read them in all that time, what exactly had they been doing?!
Those children (books) were crying!
She understood that not everyone shared her reverence. She wore gloves while reading her personal copies—a standard she couldn't impose on others. But basic respect should be universal. Borrow, read promptly, return on time. This was common sense among common sense, was it not?
From this perspective, Kuroha Akira at least possessed basic competence.
If he and Hitomi had no intimate connection, if he'd applied to join the Literary Club through normal channels... she might have approved his membership willingly.
Unfortunately.
Unfortunately, his primary objective now appeared to be picking up girls. Hmph. All men were identical—walking collections of base desires! If he joined the Literary Club for romantic purposes, then he could forget about succeeding!