— — — — — —
"Senpai, you've changed! You're not the pure senpai I used to admire anymore!" Utaha Kasumigaoka's reply arrived almost instantly.
Oikawa rolled his eyes.
Pure?
That almost made him laugh.
After a moment of thought, he replied, "I still have some of the spicy pictures you sent me back then. Oh, and screenshots of our lewd jokes too. Utaha-chan, want me to send them back to you?"
Honestly, Oikawa had never expected to hear the word pure come out of Utaha's mouth.
Back when they were all chatting, the speed at which the conversations went off the rails had been downright criminal. She had even been the one to start the dirty jokes and use them the most.
And now she wanted to act like some innocent, well-behaved girl?
"Hmph, I did no such thing! Besides, people change. The me from back then isn't the me now. I'm… I'm not like you, senpai. You hopeless pervert!" Her protest sounded weak, even to herself.
Oikawa smiled faintly.
He set his cola on the coffee table, stretched out on the sofa, crossed one leg over the other, and continued teasing her, "Uh-oh. If people really do change like you say... Then, will there come a day when you don't like me as much anymore?"
Her reply arrived almost immediately, "Never! I'll always like you, senpai. Even after ten years. Even after twenty years. I'll still like you."
Oikawa could practically picture her expression through the screen: angry, embarrassed, and a little hurt all at once.
Smiling, Oikawa replied, "Wow. Someone who didn't know any better would think I was a shrine deity. You're practically making a lifelong vow here. But I believe you. Anyway, Utaha, how are the revisions for the second volume of Love Metronome coming along? Have they decided on a release date yet?"
Perhaps because of Oikawa's influence, Utaha had become much more diligent lately.
Only a month had passed since she showed him the first draft of Volume Two, yet just a few days ago she had already said the revisions were nearly complete.
That kind of speed qualified her as a workhorse among authors.
For most light novel writers, publishing two volumes a year was standard. Many only managed one.
Someone like Oikawa, who released a volume every quarter, was exceptionally rare. And maintaining the same level of quality at that pace was rarer still.
After all, words never lie.
Every seemingly profound line required time to polish. Even at the fastest pace, the effort was measured in hours.
Of course, there were also those rare writers whose inspiration seemed heaven-sent, who could produce brilliance in a flash.
Within literary circles, Oikawa himself was often praised as exactly that kind of once-in-a-decade genius. But only he knew the truth.
'Buddy, I've got cheats. I'm a certified transmigrator.'
No matter how talented they were, they were still human. Trying to compete against someone with a cheat was basically like fighting a power line barehanded.
And honestly, Oikawa viewed himself not as an author, but more like a literary transporter.
[Utaha: "I submitted the revised manuscript for Volume Two to my editor the day before yesterday. If everything goes smoothly, it should be released near the end of February. That gives me another month to polish some of the finer details. It's a shame, though. I was hoping to release it around New Year's alongside senpai's book and compete with you again."]
There was obvious regret in her words.
Even though she knew the gap between herself and Oikawa was enormous, she still wanted to challenge him whenever she could. She never wanted to miss an opportunity.
Only by giving everything she had could she truly understand just how large the distance between them was.
Admiring him. Chasing after him. Walking beside him.
Those were Utaha's current wishes.
As for surpassing him? She neither wanted that nor believed she could achieve it. Simply being able to stand beside him would already make her happy.
[Oikawa: "Although, if we released on the same day, you'd probably get completely crushed by me. Still, Utaha, you've already done incredibly well. You're one of the most talented writers I've ever met. Believe in yourself. One day, you'll surpass me. Maybe that day will take a long time to arrive. That's exactly why you should put down the burden you're carrying and walk toward it at your own pace. Walk slowly, and you'll be able to walk farther."]
Oikawa rarely said things like this.
But when it came to Utaha, he never hesitated to offer encouragement.
Not simply because he liked her. More importantly, because she deserved it.
He knew exactly how much effort she had put in.
How many nights she had stayed awake until dawn revising manuscripts.
How many conversations they had shared discussing how to write a better novel.
All of it. Every little bit. Every ounce of hard work was real.
Oikawa looked forward to the day Utaha found success.
He looked forward to the day her name would be spoken with admiration.
[Utaha: "Senpai, I'm really touched! I'll do it. I won't let your expectations down. Thank you, senpai..."]
Reading Utaha's message, a small smile tugged at the corner of Oikawa's lips.
After a moment's thought, he replied, "If you're that touched, how about sending me a few cool photos? I really liked that black silk nightgown from last time. If I can't eat, at least let me feast my eyes. Even when you're fishing, you've got to toss the fish some bait once in a while, right?"
On the other side of the chat window, Utaha had been deeply moved.
The moment she saw his reply, her expression froze.
"Seriously... he really is hopeless."
"Every three sentences, he's asking for pictures. I've already sent him so many lately!"
She recalled some "artistic photos" she'd come across on social media over the past few days. Hesitation flickered in her eyes, and after a long pause, she bit her lip lightly.
Utaha climbed out of bed.
Her pajamas slipped quietly to the floor.
Using one hand to cover herself, she picked up her phone.
[Utaha: "Just this once. There won't be a next time!"]
[Utaha: "(Photo)"]
The instant she sent it, she buried herself under her blanket.
Her face was so red it looked like she was running a forty-degree fever.
She seemed only moments away from turning into a puff of steam.
December in Tokyo should have been colder than December in Chiba. Yet at this moment, Utaha felt as though she were standing in the middle of summer.
She was pretty sure she'd lost her mind.
Meanwhile, Oikawa stared at the photo in stunned silence.
Holy crap.
That's more beautiful than the videos I watch…
After zooming in and staring for a bit, he immediately replied, "The pure-hearted virgin boy, descendant of legend and traveler of fate, has entered your sacred white realm. As the most beautiful lady, you will show mercy and send a few more pictures, right?"
A long while passed before Utaha finally answered, "Drop dead."
[Oikawa: "I'd die happy if you sent a few more. Please, save me from this agony—my body can't take it. Don't leave me hanging like that."]
Utaha never replied again.
She also decided she wasn't going to talk to Oikawa for a while.
...
..
Monday was, as always, impossible to get excited about.
The bus stop near Oikawa's house was one of the earliest stops on the route to Sobu High School, so he always had plenty of seats to choose from.
He picked an aisle seat and placed his bag on the seat by the window. Then he drifted into one of his usual states of semi-conscious daydreaming.
Not quite asleep. Not quite awake.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
Eventually, a first-year girl wearing the Sobu High uniform approached him and timidly asked, "Um, Oikawa-senpai... is this seat taken?"
Oikawa looked up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed several girls nearby secretly watching the scene.
"Sorry, this seat is reserved for—"
Before he could finish, the bus doors opened. Kawasaki stepped aboard with her school bag slung over her shoulder.
"There she is." Oikawa smiled and pointed.
Kawasaki merely glanced at the girl.
The first-year immediately bowed in panic and hurried back to her friends.
When Kawasaki smiled, she was stunningly beautiful. But with her usual expressionless face, she could put a lot of pressure on strangers. Especially younger students.
Though... Kawasaki was actually a genuinely good person.
"What happened? Why did she run away looking like she was about to cry?" Kawasaki sat down by the window and asked with a slightly blank expression.
"Because you've got a yakuza face and scared her," Oikawa replied, intrigued.
Kawasaki shot him a glare and ignored him, lowering her head to review the vocabulary notebook in her hands.
The morning bus was mostly filled with students. Before long, the entire vehicle became noisy with chatter, overflowing with youthful energy.
Most of the students were busy complaining about how unfairly short weekends were.
What surprised Oikawa was that quite a few first-year Sobu High students greeted him respectfully whenever they saw him.
Since when had he become so famous among the freshmen?
Still... it wasn't a bad feeling.
...
Monday's classes were the same as always.
He slept through nearly all of the science and math lessons.
But even while sleeping, Oikawa could practically feel the resentment radiating from the math teacher.
He was convinced that if he possessed some sort of emotion-collection system, he'd be farming points off that teacher every single day.
Ring—!
The final bell rang, and Oikawa immediately came back to life.
Throwing his bag over his shoulder, he strode out of the classroom.
A chosen wage slave would never stay at the workplace a second longer than necessary. Leaving the academic building behind, he entered the activities building and instantly felt much lighter.
On a day this cold, nothing beat a steaming cup of black tea. If there happened to be some dorayaki or other sweets to go with it, even better.
At this point, those two things were probably the biggest attractions the Service Club had for Oikawa.
"Hm? Yukino, you're here surprisingly early." Oikawa sounded genuinely surprised.
He had practically sprinted all the way to the Service Club, yet Yukino was already seated with a book in hand and a freshly brewed cup of tea beside her.
What was this? Teleportation?
"Mm." Yukino answered calmly and lifted her eyes toward him.
For some reason, she seemed to be radiating cold air.
Oikawa shivered instinctively.
He quickly grabbed a mug and poured himself some tea. Only after feeling the warmth spread through his hands did he feel properly alive again.
"It seems you've been working very hard these past few days, Oikawa Toru.... Meguri-senpai messaged me on Line yesterday. She said the Christmas event has gotten off to a very promising start, and that it's largely thanks to you." Yukino closed her book with a sharp snap and placed it on the table.
Oikawa's gaze naturally drifted toward the source of the sound.
The title on the cover immediately caught his eye— Your Lie in April.
"Cough!"
He nearly choked on his tea.
"Well... it's not entirely my doing. I didn't really do much. Isshiki's been working very hard as student council president. Um.. By the way, Yukino, why are you reading Your Lie in April again? Haven't you already read it once?"
As he spoke, his eyes wandered slightly.
Something felt wrong. The atmosphere in the Service Club felt less like a clubroom and more like an interrogation room.
His instincts immediately went on high alert.
"A good book deserves multiple readings. Otherwise, how can one truly appreciate... its deeper meaning?" Yukino folded her hands around her teacup. "Oikawa, don't you agree?"
Oikawa nodded quickly, "Absolutely. Very reasonable."
"Speaking of which, I recall Copycat-sensei is your friend, right, Oikawa?" She took a delicate sip of tea. "I'm curious. How exactly did the two of you meet?"
Throughout the entire exchange, she never once looked directly at him. Yet Oikawa felt as though a mountain were pressing down on his shoulders.
Oh, crap.
Something was seriously wrong here.
The moment he'd stepped into the Service Club, he'd somehow fallen onto the defensive.
It felt as if Yukino had spent the entire day weaving a spider's web around the room.
And now he was caught in it.
Slowly. Methodically. Being devoured.
"We met online," he answered. "Through a writers' forum."
"Is that so? A writers' forum..." Yukino murmured the words softly before continuing. "Then it seems our Oikawa also dreams of becoming an author. I wonder when I'll have the opportunity to read your work. Surely you've written some practice pieces before. Perhaps I could offer a few suggestions."
Aura was a strange thing.
Some people looked completely ordinary online. But when you met them face-to-face, you suddenly understood what pressure felt like.
Yukino wasn't exactly intimidating in the traditional sense. Still, the momentum she was building was impossible to ignore.
"Th-That's probably unnecessary. My writing is terrible. I'd be too embarrassed to show anyone." Oikawa nervously shook his head.
"No need to be so modest." Yukino finally met his eyes. Her voice remained calm, but every word landed with unmistakable force. "I've heard that you're helping Zaimokuza improve his immature writing. And that the results have been remarkably good. No matter how I look at it, that doesn't sound like someone whose writing is terrible."
She paused.
Then slowly delivered the killing blow.
"Unless, of course... You've been hiding your identity all along. And you're actually a famous author yourself."
"Just like... Copycat-sensei. That would certainly explain why you're friends with him. After all... Outstanding people naturally attract one another."
"That makes sense, doesn't it, Oikawa-kun?"
The final sentence was practically squeezed through clenched teeth.
Cold sweat immediately formed on Oikawa's back.
She knows. She absolutely knows.
This isn't a conversation anymore. She's forcing me to confess before she starts the trial.
But what was he supposed to do? If he admitted it right now, this furious woman would tear him apart on the spot.
His brain raced desperately for an escape route.
Unfortunately, none appeared.
Yukino's voice sounded again, "Oikawa-kun, why have you gone silent? Don't tell me I guessed correctly."
The atmosphere in the Service Club grew heavier and heavier.
And then—
"Yahallo~!"
A bright, cheerful voice reached Oikawa's ears.
An angel.
That had to be an angel.
How else could a voice sound so warm and comforting?
In an instant, the suffocating tension inside the Service Club melted away like snow under the spring sun. Spring had arrived.
.
.
.