The reason Shinomiya could smell another woman's scent on Kuroha Akira wasn't because her nose was particularly sharp—it was because she was overly familiar with his scent.
After all, she breathed it in every single day. How could she not know it by heart?
Especially during school. Whenever Shinomiya felt tired, she would lie on the lower bunk, bury her face in Kuroha Akira's pillow, hug his blanket, and fantasize about being held in his arms. Her whole body would feel light and floaty… This was Shinomiya's exclusive charging time.
So yes, her memory of Kuroha Akira's scent was vivid. Even the slightest change, she could detect.
Normally, Kuroha Akira came home from school carrying other scents—but they weren't very strong. Most were food smells, indicating that his lunch choices kept changing.
But today? Today, Kuroha Akira had a faint, elegant ink scent lingering on him. And also something distinctly… feminine.
Maybe it was a different brand of shower gel. Maybe it was so-called "body fragrance." But what was certain was that it definitely wasn't her scent.
Every time Shinomiya finished enjoying herself on Kuroha Akira's bed, she would tidy his sheets, open the window to air out the room, and then double-check the lingering scent—just in case he discovered what she'd been doing.
Fortunately, Kuroha Akira was relatively oblivious in that regard. He never noticed anything strange. So recently, Shinomiya had grown bolder about leaving a bit more of her scent behind.
If she wet the bedsheet and then dried it, even more scent would remain.
That way, when he slept at night wrapped in that blanket, he'd absorb her scent overnight. By morning, when she smelled his body, she could clearly detect herself on him.
And Shinomiya would secretly rejoice. Because it was like leaving her mark on him—a sense of accomplishment from her possessiveness being satisfied.
But Kuroha Akira, coming home from school, shouldn't have had this new scent on him. It should have dissipated hours ago.
This meant he must have had intimate contact with another "female culprit." And recently.
Kuroha Akira had intimate contact with a woman she didn't know…
Just knowing that made Shinomiya's mood plummet to rock bottom.
Was it that woman named "Hitomi"?
Thief…!
Shinomiya bit her lower lip, her face filled with resentment as she stared at Kuroha Akira. He felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine and stopped his spoon mid-bite, turning to look back.
But just as Kuroha Akira turned his head, Shinomiya had already used her acting skills to hide her displeased expression.
Her acting proficiency was constantly improving through daily practice like this.
"What's wrong? Why are you standing behind me?"
"Nothing…" She tilted her head innocently. "Just wondering if I should give Akira-kun a shoulder rub."
"Haha, no need for that kind of reward. I haven't been rushing deadlines lately. I've just been reading books in the Literary Club."
"Is that so…"
Shinomiya pursed her lips, her gaze casually drifting elsewhere. She tried hard to appear indifferent, but the slight trembling of her hands clasped behind her back betrayed the turmoil within.
Thanks to her talent and practice, her expression remained calm as still water. So she asked, with a seemingly nonchalant air,
"So, Akira-kun, you went to a friend's house from the Literary Club today?"
"That's right."
"Was it that girl named 'Hitomi'?"
"It wasn't the class president. It was another friend."
Another girl. So Akira-kun was very popular in the Literary Club too. And the Literary Club was full of girls…
With the change in her imaginary enemy, Shinomiya's hostility lost its target. She didn't even know the names of the other girls in the club.
She really wanted to keep asking—but Shinomiya also knew that pestering him would seem annoying.
She wasn't his wife. She wasn't even his girlfriend. If she interrogated him like this, he'd definitely feel disgusted, right?
Although she hated Kuroha Akira getting too close to other women, she was even more afraid of being disliked by him. Being hated was something she couldn't even imagine. So she obediently shut her mouth, hiding her grievances in her heart like a devoted little wife.
But the carefree Kuroha Akira, completely oblivious, followed the topic and started talking about what happened today.
"Speaking of which, thanks to her willingness to help, my light novel can become even better. Might even have a chance to get animated."
"Is that so…"
She should have congratulated him. Praised his achievement. But her mood was too sour, so Shinomiya's enthusiasm came out flat.
Kuroha Akira just assumed she was tired from a day of voice acting practice and didn't pay much attention. He continued eating his fried rice as he spoke.
"Let me think… Generally speaking, animation projects for light novels get proposed between the fifth and tenth volumes. If the popularity's high enough, the fifth volume can land an anime adaptation…"
Based on the current publishing pace with Shirai Shiori's help, they'd be able to release two volumes every three months. Do the math, and that means reaching the fifth volume in about half a year.
"And producing a single season of an anime also takes about half a year… So, all together, we're looking at roughly a year."
Kuroha Akira picked up his spoon, pointing it at Shinomiya like a conductor's baton, a teasing glint dancing in his eyes.
"Shion, if my light novel gets the anime adaptation it deserves… then you'll be the one voicing the heroine."
"Huh?!"
Shinomiya hadn't expected the spotlight to swing back to her so suddenly. Her violet eyes flew wide, lips parting ever so slightly, her entire body freezing mid-reach for her glass. For a moment, she looked like a porcelain doll someone had paused mid-motion—absolutely stunned, breath caught in her throat.
Then, like cherry blossoms bursting into bloom across a spring hillside, a wave of pure joy surged up from the depths of her heart.
Could it be…? Did Akira-kun write this light novel… for her too?!
"Why the surprised face?" Akira tilted his head, genuinely amused by her reaction. "If my work gets animated, of course you'd be the one chosen as the voice actress, right?"
"Ah… Mm!"
That's right! Her heart sang. He would choose me! He would only choose me!
"But—" Akira raised a finger, his tone shifting slightly, like a teacher about to deliver an important lesson. "Even though the original author can participate in the voice actor selection process, the final decision ultimately rests with the anime director. Which means, Shion… you yourself need to have sufficient skill."
He wasn't actually worried about her ability. Shinomiya's talent was undeniable—he'd heard her practice enough times to know that. No, the real concern was something else entirely.
Fame.
Accumulating recognition takes time. For him to legitimately recommend her when the moment came, Shinomiya would need to have already made a name for herself. Ideally, she'd debut within the next half a year.
"In other words," Akira continued, his gaze steady and warm, "by this time next year, Shion, you need to have already become a reasonably well-known voice actress."
A tremendous surge of motivation ignited within Shinomiya's chest—hot, bright, unstoppable. She clenched her small fists against her heart, knuckles whitening with resolve.
"Mm! I'll keep working harder than ever! I absolutely won't waste the precious opportunity Akira-kun has prepared for me!"
"Very good." Akira nodded approvingly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "That's the spirit I like to see… Well, I'm just about finished eating."
He set down his chopsticks, then leaned back slightly, his expression shifting into something more playful—though still warm, still familiar.
"Want me to give you a foot rub later?"
A full stomach breeds desire, as the saying goes. And after everything that had happened today at Shirai Shiori's house—the white walls, the white gloves, the white… well—Akira found himself feeling a bit restless. Using Shinomiya's stockings and feet to vent some of that excess energy, before finishing up properly in the bathroom, seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan.
"Ah… Okay." A faint blush crept across Shinomiya's cheeks, but she didn't hesitate for more than a heartbeat. "Um, Akira-kun… which pair of stockings do you want? I'll go change into them right now."
"The ones you're wearing are fine."
Shinomiya happened to be wearing white pantyhose today. And after the day he'd had—white skin, white underwear, white gloves all lingering in his memory like afterimages—white stockings felt like the perfect substitute.
"Mm…" Shinomiya's voice dropped to a soft, almost shy murmur. "Then… I'll leave it to you."
She simply couldn't refuse him. Not that she wanted to. The truth was simpler and sweeter than that: she enjoyed it too much.
Placing her small, stocking-clad feet in his hands, letting him knead and massage them—that was the happiest, most blissful part of her day. Second only, perhaps, to lying on his bed.
So after dinner, Kuroha Akira began his silk-wrapped foot service.
He'd gotten serious about this, actually. To better serve Shinomiya—to give her the kind of care she deserved—he'd even gone to Tashiro Kurenai to learn proper massage techniques. Real techniques, not just fumbling around.
He learned many ways of holding.
Forward grip, reverse grip, back grip, inverted grip, side grip, diagonal grip, vertical grip, horizontal grip, front grip, rear grip… and so many more variations that his fingers sometimes forgot which was which.
Kuroha Akira had a quiet theory: if he kept practicing his massage techniques on Shinomiya's feet every single day, then in perhaps two or three months, his left hand would develop a genuine proficiency in "foot reflexology."
Not bad for a light novel author, really.
*T/N:I totally got lost from this point
Speaking of which, Akira still remembered hearing a seven-character mantra for evaluating jailers in his previous life.
Thin, small, pointed, curved, fragrant, soft, and proper.
But the 'thin' here didn't refer to being emaciated—it was about being able to highlight the natural curves of the foot. And as for 'small'? He'd always found feudal customs like foot binding utterly foolish. What 'three-inch golden lotus'? That wasn't elegance—that was just a human-made deformity!
Shinomiya's natural beautiful feet were the best.
All the other evaluation criteria applied to her perfectly: beautiful toes that tapered like flower petals, naturally curved arches that could make a poet weep, stockings that somehow always carried a faint, clean fragrance, softness that made his fingers want to linger, an instep that was neither too high nor too flat… In short, she was excellent in every possible dimension.
Perfect feet.
And as Akira's foot reflexology technique improved, something else changed too.
Shinomiya's legs and feet grew increasingly sensitive.
Every time her feet were held and kneaded by his practiced hands, it felt like stepping into a warm sauna—hot currents coursing through her body, melting her muscles, turning her limbs soft and limp like mud. The sounds she made—those sweet, involuntary, utterly seductive noises—became harder and harder to suppress.
Just having her feet cradled in his palms made her feel as if her entire being was wrapped up in his control, her resistance evaporating like morning mist.
Not that she ever thought of resisting anyway.
But still… Akira-kun is truly too cunning…
If he kept doing this to her every time… wouldn't she end up agreeing to absolutely anything he said?
Oh well. A small, helpless smile curved her lips as she sank deeper into the couch, her eyes half-lidded, her cheeks flushed pink.
Oh well.
What if he interacted with many more women from now on? What if other girls—clever ones, pretty ones, ones with their own white stockings—started gathering around him?
He would still come home in the end.
Come back to her side.