"No need."
Shirai Shiori's response came crisp and immediate, rejecting Kuroha's concession before the echo of their handshake faded. "This time, I'll also write a light novel. Only by writing the same type of work can it be considered a fair competition."
Kuroha blinked. This wasn't stubbornness for its own sake—her reasoning actually held water.
"After reading through the night yesterday, I discovered light novels cover far more territory than I assumed." She adjusted her glasses with habitual precision. "Fantasy, science fiction, mystery, even alternate history—some content is quite serious, not easy reading at all. Yet they're still categorized as light novels. So no, I don't believe writing in this format puts me at a disadvantage."
She'd done her research. Early light novels had evolved from the "lightweight" concept to encompass virtually any theme imaginable. The genre was becoming a super-hodgepodge capable of absorbing everything—though admittedly, it also hosted its share of "isekai trash" and dialogue-heavy character pieces. In Japan's publishing ecosystem, the simplest definition was: novels easily adapted into manga and anime.
"Besides," she continued, "if I submitted to publishers who know my name, my acceptance rate would be artificially higher. That would be fundamentally unfair."
Kuroha's eyebrow arched. No sneer, just genuine surprise. "...Are you serious?"
"Completely."
"Shirai-san." He leaned forward. "Do you know the saying, 'Don't challenge a professional at their own game with amateur enthusiasm'?"
The words hung there for a moment, and Kuroha suddenly remembered he was currently just some random male high school student. The professional claim lacked weight coming from someone who still needed hall passes to use the bathroom.
He adjusted his tone to something more casual. "I mean—not that I'm exactly a professional either. But regarding light novels specifically? I'm definitely more familiar with them than you. You'd be at a significant disadvantage."
"I know." No hesitation. "But I'll catch up. Setting aside questions of writing skill, I'm quite confident in my reading ability."
She had a point. The girl read constantly—traditional literature, contemporary works, now light novels. The genres weren't entirely separate; commonalities existed. With her reading volume, she'd likely grasp the conventions quickly.
But she was still walking into a trap of her own making. Leaving her comfort zone voluntarily, entering unfamiliar territory as the challenger rather than the established authority.
And precisely because of this, Kuroha felt something shift in his perception of her.
Shirai Shiori's pride wasn't hollow arrogance. She'd actually done the work—read extensively, written seriously, submitted manuscripts, won awards. She understood viscerally how difficult publication was, how it demanded full commitment.
She'd clearly prepared herself mentally to immerse completely in light novels for this entire month. That was the only way she could calmly pursue the fair duel she envisioned.
Kuroha's lips curved into a smile rich with amusement.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"Let me confirm something in advance." His tone carried new energy. "You're not planning to use 'light novels aren't my specialty' as an excuse if you lose, are you?"
"You needn't worry about that." Shirai lifted her chin, meeting his gaze directly. "If I truly lose, I'll fulfill the bet completely. No backing out."
The challenge in her eyes sharpened.
"On the other hand, I hope Kuroha-kun can be man enough to keep his promises. Do what you say, instead of weaseling out if you lose."
Kuroha slapped the table with enough force to make the tea set rattle.
"What Kuroha Akira says, Kuroha Akira does! A man of his word—once spoken, never taken back!"
"Then we'll await the outcome."
The words hung between them like a sealed document. Both retreat routes incinerated. No excuses, no escape hatches, no convenient rationalizations if things went wrong.
Kuroha, carrying an adult's perspective beneath his teenager exterior, normally preferred to avoid pushing things this far. Only impulsive children made bets beyond their capabilities, risking total humiliation in defeat.
But Shirai Shiori was so genuinely serious...
He decided to match her determination.
"Then I should tell you, Shirai-san—I've already decided my concept and started writing. You'd better pick up the pace."
Shirai's brow furrowed slightly. Yesterday the bet was made; today he'd already begun? Did he not even write outlines?
No—perhaps he'd already been planning this before. That would explain his eagerness to recruit Moe for illustrations...
Another point against her suspicion list. But alongside it came a flicker of anxiety about falling behind.
Wait. She caught herself. Creation shouldn't be rushed. The more you hurry, the worse you write.
He'd said that deliberately—trying to affect her mindset!
Just like when he'd smelled her shoes yesterday. Shameless big bad guy!
"Hmph!" She crossed her arms. "You needn't worry. I'll create at my own pace. This isn't a speed competition, Kuroha-kun. You should focus more on your own work's completeness."
"Hehe." His grin was insufferable. "That's exactly what I'm doing."
...
With books borrowed and the bet transformed from impulsive squabble to genuine duel, Kuroha saw no reason to linger. Official club activities hadn't started; staying would mean either sitting uselessly or writing in front of his new rival. Neither appealed.
"Alright, Class Rep, I'm heading back. See you tomorrow."
Asato Hitomi looked up from where she'd settled. "Leaving already? Won't you stay longer?"
"No real activities yet, so nothing to do. And Shirai-san's here—better to avoid writing in front of her."
Shirai rolled her eyes dramatically. "I wouldn't steal your ideas! Even if you showed me, I wouldn't look!"
"It's not about that." Kuroha shouldered his bag. "Creation needs the right environment. Familiar space, calm mind, proper flow. You're the same way, right?"
"...Hmph."
She couldn't argue. School was for reading; real writing only happened at home, in solitude.
"Hitomi-chan, I'm leaving too." Shirai gathered her belongings with pointed speed, clearly determined not to be outdone.
"Ah! Wait for me!" Aizono Moe scrambled after her, bowing hastily toward Asato Hitomi. "I'm leaving too—see you tomorrow!"
Kuroha shrugged, gave the Class Rep a casual hand-signal farewell, and slipped out before anyone could protest further.
Leaving Asato Hitomi alone in the Literary Club.
"Oh dear..." She exhaled softly, watching the empty doorway. "In the end, I'm the only one left."
Her smile held no bitterness—just gentle acceptance. She admired how easily her club members moved toward their goals, propelled by passion and competition.
Fortunately, she'd found something she wanted too.
When it came to making money... Asato Hitomi's mind immediately supplied one name. The sharpest businesswoman she'd ever encountered.
Her mother.
Asato Megumi, de facto controller of the Asato family fortune. The woman who'd coldly dismantled her daughter's childhood friendships with calculated words, plunging their relationship to subzero temperatures. These days, they exchanged only polite greetings when crossing paths—no warmth, no connection, no communication beyond the barest necessity.
Asato Hitomi had silently vowed never to ask her mother for anything, ever again.
But now...
She might have to break that vow.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled out her phone, scrolling to the number she'd never once dialed. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, then pressed call with determined finality.
"...Hello? It's me."
Who is this? If you don't say your name, I won't know... Oh my, could it be my rebellious daughter? But my daughter never calls me... Ah, I know—this is one of those 'it's me, it's me' scams, isn't it? Hehe, I won't fall for it, you know?
The voice that emerged was light, playful, almost teasing—nothing like the iron lady etched into Asato Hitomi's childhood memories. That mother had been cold, meticulous, ruthless as a corporate raider. This voice sounded almost... cute.
But Asato Hitomi knew her mother had transformed in recent years.
Love, perhaps. Or the softening that came with a second child.
The iron maiden's shell had cracked open to reveal a smiling Bodhisattva beneath—still deadly in business, but wrapped in approachable warmth. The family's highest revenue records had been shattered repeatedly under this new facade.
Mother, please don't tease me. Only Father and I know this number... I'm your daughter, Asato Hitomi.
A pause. Then—
Waaah... Mama is so excited right now, you know? SUPER excited! This is the first time my daughter has voluntarily spoken to me in eight years and ten months! The last time you initiated conversation, you said, 'I won't call you Mama anymore, I'll call you Mother.' Boohoo... Mama has soaked who knows how many pillows... Though it's all my fault, really... ALL my fault... Mama back then was just a stubborn idiot!
Asato Hitomi's grip on the phone loosened slightly.
Was this really the mother she'd feared?
She remembered the massive fight between her parents about upbringing methods—the shouting, the slammed doors, the tearful reconciliation afterward. Her mother had changed after that. Asato Hitomi just never imagined how much.
Was this the power of love?
Could a woman truly transform 180 degrees after genuinely falling in love with a man?
I want to ask you about making money.
The line went quiet. When Asato Megumi's voice returned, the playfulness had vanished, replaced by something serious and sharp.
I think Hitomi—you understand what this means. Can Mama ask why?
...There's someone I care about. He only looks at people who can make significant money.
Another pause. Then a slow, warm chuckle.
I see... My Hitomi has reached that age, hasn't she? A beat. Hehe, very good. This is very good, you know? No problem at all. Let Mama teach you personally—how to manipulate markets, how to manipulate men. I'll share everything I know.
Thank you... Mama.
The word came easier than she'd expected.
Eight years and ten months of ice, melting in a single phone call.
Asato Hitomi's heart swelled with something she hadn't felt in years: vitality. Passion. Purpose.
Please wait for me to grow, Kuroha-kun... I want to prove to you that I can shine just as brightly!
...
Across town, Kuroha Akira burst through the Kobayashi household door considerably earlier than usual, having practically sprinted the entire way home.
Shoes flew off with barely controlled urgency. Shinomiya's welcoming greeting received only a distracted wave as he charged toward his laptop, fingers already itching to type.
Shinomiya tilted her head, watching his manic energy with quiet amusement. She settled beside him as he booted up, waiting patiently until he paused long enough to acknowledge her presence.
"Akira-kun." Her voice was soft, curious. "You seem in excellent spirits. Did something good happen at school?"
Kuroha grinned, pulling manuscript pages from his bag. "Oh? You can tell?"
"It's very obvious." She nodded sagely. "You're radiating motivation. Like a engine running at full throttle."
Shinomiya had always been perceptive about others' emotions. For Kuroha—the person she currently cared about most—she could read his mood from across the room, sensing the atmosphere he projected like atmospheric pressure before weather changed.
"Well..." Kuroha considered how to explain. "How should I put this? I found a good rival, I think?"
Originally, this light novel project had been purely practical—a means to earn his first pot of gold, establish himself, secure financial independence.
Functional. Transactional. Business.
But Shirai Shiori had changed something.
She'd reminded him of the fire he'd felt when first discovering light novels—the excitement of creation itself, the thrill of bringing stories to life. And now, layered over that, the electric charge of competition.
Creation was painful. Creation was joyful. But creation with someone else pushing you to be better?
That was endlessly, intoxicatingly fun.
Kuroha cracked his knuckles, pulled up his document, and surveyed the afternoon's work waiting to be continued.
"Damn it." A grin spread across his face, wild and genuine. "I'm fired up!"