"Mio—what did she want?" Mashiro asked once Utaha was gone, curiosity giving her voice just a touch of inflection.
"Utaha-senpai wanted me to illustrate her new novel."
"Oh." Mashiro gave a small nod. Then, with her characteristic flatness: "Mio, I'm hungry."
"Then let go of me first so I can actually cook."
Mashiro had been holding on ever since the doorway, and they were still standing in the entryway. If anyone passed by in the hall, they'd definitely get the wrong idea about the two of them.
Then again—did they actually have the right idea? Well. Never mind.
Mashiro hesitated. Then she looked up at Mio, close enough that the distance between them was almost nothing—and kissed her.
"Mm—?"
Mio had absolutely no time to react.
It was brief—a light press of lips, nothing more than that, and Mashiro released her almost immediately, bolting into the apartment at a speed that was frankly impressive for someone who usually moved like she had all the time in the world.
Mio stood in the doorway for a moment, hand instinctively going to her lips.
Then she let out a quiet, helpless laugh. This girl.
You can run, but you can't hide—and there was nowhere to run to in a shared apartment.
Still. It wasn't as though Mio felt wronged by any of this.
She rubbed the warmth from her cheek, turned around, and started dinner.
There were only three of them tonight, but Mio made the usual spread—small portions, high variety, every dish done carefully.
After dinner, she handed off the dishes to Sengoku Chihiro and retreated to her room.
She was just settling in to practice sketching when her phone buzzed with an email notification. Sender: Fujikawa Fantastic Bunko.
She opened it.
The email was long. The message was simple:
Your novel has won our award. Please let us know when you're available to discuss the details.
Mio's mouth curved into a quiet smile.
She'd gone so long without hearing anything that she'd started to assume her submission had been rejected. Apparently not.
Honkai was a sunny, optimistic story—of course it was going to win. That kind of earnest, forward-moving narrative practically had "award-bait" written across its spine.
Though, to be fair: the draft she'd submitted hadn't even gotten to the first major emotional gut-punch yet. So from the judges' perspective, it genuinely was wholesome content. For now.
She composed a reply. After double-checking that this was definitely not a phishing email, she included her phone number. Emails were too slow for this kind of back-and-forth.
A few minutes later, her phone rang. Unknown number.
She picked up. A warm, measured voice came through: "Hello—is this Shiro-ke-sensei? I'm Tanaka, from the Fujikawa Editorial Department."
"Yes, that's me. What can I do for you?"
"I assume you've received the award notification. I'd like to arrange a meeting to discuss serialization and the contract—whenever works for you. When are you available?"
"I'm still in school, so—would Saturday or Sunday work?"
"Perfectly. Where would be convenient for you?"
Mio named a café near campus as their meeting spot.
Tanaka spent the rest of the call going over a few procedural notes and expressing quite genuine enthusiasm for where the story was going. You could hear it—she actually liked Honkai.
They stayed on the line for over ten minutes before she hung up.
"Little kouhai, who were you chatting with just now~?"
Mio had barely set her phone down before Yukinoshita Haruno's voice came from the doorway. She turned—and found Haruno already leaning against the frame, wearing that signature warm, slightly-too-pleased smile.
"Senpai, how did you get in?"
"Chihiro let me in, naturally. What do you think I did—pick the lock?"
"Honestly, senpai, I wouldn't put it past you."
Haruno reacted with exaggerated devastation, staggering toward Mio in theatrical wounded-deer fashion—then, while Mio wasn't braced for it, hooking her hands on Mio's shoulders and toppling her neatly onto the bed.
Mio looked up at Haruno now pinning her down, expression somewhere between resigned and fond. "Senpai, you've been taking ambush lessons, haven't you."
"Also?" Something gleamed in Haruno's eyes, sharp and curious.
"Never mind that. You've damaged my reputation with that remark, and I demand compensation. One kiss, little kouhai. Non-negotiable."
Mio had expected this gambit. She didn't even blink. "Senpai, don't you want to know who I was on the phone with?"
Haruno paused. She'd noticed—during the call, Mio had been smiling. Not the polite social smile, but the quieter, genuinely pleased kind.
That had snagged her attention more than she'd meant to let it.
After a moment's deliberation, Haruno settled beside Mio on the bed—still close, but no longer directly on top of her. "Fine. Who was it?"
"Phone's been killing my shoulder. Massage first, talk later."
Mio shifted onto her front and presented her back in the least-subtle negotiating move of the century.
Haruno's expression flickered. Oh, this little—
But she sat down anyway—settling herself right onto Mio's rather soft posterior without a second thought—and began working on the knots in Mio's shoulders.
She wasn't trained in massage. Didn't matter. She had good instincts for pressure, and within a few minutes Mio's breathing had gone slow and unfocused.
Dangerously close to asleep, actually.
Haruno caught it. A light, precise poke at Mio's waist.
Mio's eyes snapped open.
She tried to roll over—and found she couldn't; Haruno had her pinned.
"Talk, little kouhai. Or you know what happens."
Haruno's fingers hovered at the edge of Mio's waist, an implicit threat.
"Okay, okay—I'll talk." Mio surrendered immediately. "It was an editor from Fujikawa Fantastic Bunko. The novel I submitted to their award won. She called to set up a meeting about serialization."
"That's it?!"
"That's it."
"But you were smiling so much during the call."
"...Senpai." Mio tilted her head. "Are you jealous?"
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