"You're just wasting your talent." Without hesitation, Utaha voiced her opinion.
If she wanted to be more persuasive, she could've added something like, "The people who believe in you, the ones who are eager to compete with you—they'll all be disappointed." But she was Utaha.
A girl who always stayed true to herself, never caring about how others viewed her.
"What does it matter to you how I use my talent? Don't tell me... Kasumigaoka Utaha, are you actually worried about me?" Eriri asked in disbelief.
Even after living together for so long, she still insisted on using Utaha's full name, as if it were a matter of principle.
Utaha, of course, saw it as nothing more than a childish game.
"I just think it's a shame for your talent." The black-haired, red-eyed girl didn't dodge the question—she simply stated what she truly felt.
"..." The piece of grilled meat Eriri had just put in her mouth fell out without her noticing.
She didn't even bother to wipe her lips.
Blinking rapidly, she looked at Utaha, then at Kyousuke, and back again.
Even after a few seconds, she still couldn't quite process it.
What did she just hear?
Eriri, who had secretly considered Utaha her greatest rival, couldn't believe she'd just been praised by her.
Had the noble blonde princess finally triumphed over the wicked sorceress?
"Hmph, that kind of competition is child's play to me. It's nothing compared to how fun making anime is. I'm going to bring all my talent into the world of animation!"
Grinning and flashing her little fang, she didn't push her advantage.
Instead, for some reason, she chose to comfort Utaha in her own, very Eriri way.
'Sigh...'
Utaha let out a long sigh. Hopeless. This person was absolutely hopeless.
She turned to look at Kyousuke, who gave her a reassuring glance.
As expected. Even though he always looked as laid-back as Eriri, he knew the value of talent.
The fact that he never slacked off with his kendo training—despite claiming to have no interest in competitions—was proof enough.
He never let himself go, not even for a moment.
"In that case," he said, smiling at the now smug Eriri, "I'll quit all my club activities too. I'll focus entirely on the anime project."
It was a slightly underhanded move, but he knew—ordinary persuasion would never work on Eriri.
If he tried explaining the pros and cons, if he pointed out what she might gain from competing, all she'd do is puff up and say, "Don't be so full of yourself. I'll decide what to do on my own."
Then she'd push anything concerning herself to the bottom of her list, putting all her energy into what she considered more important.
"You can't!" Eriri rejected the idea immediately.
'I was planning to go cheer you on at the tournament!'
'You're the protagonist of my anime, you know! How can your high school life be so dull?'
'It's not like you're the type of hero who has to work a bunch of part-time jobs to survive!'
'If you need money, I still have tons of allowance left! I'd be willing to put all of it into the anime production fund if I have to!'
"I don't want the heroine of my anime to be someone who just sits at her desk drawing all day."
"Would a girl like that really make people all over the world fall in love, really make other girls look at her and think, 'I want to be like her'?"
Speaking calmly, Kyousuke looked Eriri straight in the eyes with a smile.
"Ack! I'm the director, that's my concern! Stop acting like you're in charge, you glorified assistant!"
Leaving that shout behind, the flustered girl buried her face in her plate and started stuffing herself with grilled meat.
A soft blush bloomed across her delicate cheeks.
That rosy hue said more than any words could.
Utaha and Kyousuke exchanged a glance—they both knew.
The issue was settled.
"If you need help with anything, just say the word. I don't have much going on at school, and Tansan Studio has professionals handling things. Everything will go smoothly."
With that, he got back to work, taking over the grilling from Shouko.
Eriri looked up at him, watching his silhouette at the grill.
Her smile grew sweeter.
What an idiot. He doesn't even realize what truly matters—he's like a kid who hasn't grown up.
He talked about school and the studio, but not a word about the most urgent thing: the novel.
The Japan Booksellers' Award was chosen by bookstore clerks across the country—there wasn't much room to pull strings.
But the Mystery Writers of Japan Award, and even the prestigious Naoki Prize—those had a lot more going on behind the scenes.
Thanks to intel her father had gathered, Eriri knew that Kyousuke was facing an uphill battle for the Mystery Writers award.
Publicly, The Devotion of Suspect X was being seen as a "classic mystery" novel—but there was no denying it also tackled pressing social issues.
It began with Ishigami's mistreatment, followed by themes of female vulnerability and homelessness.
Readers just thought it was a gripping read, but the committee? They were a jungle of factions.
The sixteen members of the judging panel were always split—some leaned toward orthodox mysteries, others toward avant-garde or social fiction.
Everyone had their biases.
Whether it was true belief or personal gain was anyone's guess.
Kyousuke's novel had strong backing from Osaka Hiromasa, a leading voice in traditional mysteries.
He even tried to persuade his friends to support it.
But so far, no one else had budged.
The two judges in the social fiction camp—Toyomasa Kurokawa and Hiroki Naganuma—were backing a purely social-issue-focused novel.
That alone made Eriri furious.
Those two jerks even claimed, "If everyone starts sugarcoating classic mysteries with social themes, social fiction will eventually die out."
How ridiculous.
Isn't the whole point of novels just to be good?
So what if it's not light and fluffy like a light novel—if it makes people think, that's valuable too! Isn't that exactly what Kyousuke's book does?
Didn't last month's newspaper say the number of homeless people in Tokyo had dropped significantly?
If that's not sparking real-world change, what is?
Still, it wasn't those two that made her angriest.
It was the other two—whose names she couldn't even remember.
Apparently, they looked down on Kyousuke behind his back for being a manga artist and a light novel author.
Said he was "polluting the mystery genre."
Unbelievable.
People like that shouldn't exist.
She wanted to drag Utaha into one of their meetings and give them a piece of their minds while she smirked smugly from the sidelines.
Of course, that was all backroom gossip.
When it came time to officially critique the novel, those same people would fall back on classic pretenses: "lacking technical finesse," "weak storytelling in the second half," "unconvincing motives," "illogical character behavior," and so on.
Kyousuke wasn't stupid.
He had to know what was going on.
From her dad, and even from Kitamura Kazuo—the executive judge she met during that golf game—she'd learned that Kyousuke was on good terms with both Osaka Hiromasa and the chairman of the association.
If anything came up, they'd be the first to tell him.
But he hadn't said a word about it.
Now was the time to pull every string he had! Was he just being shy?
Eriri had already asked her dad more than once to help out, but their circles barely overlapped.
There just wasn't much he could do.
Just like the award she had originally wanted to give up on, the Tokyo Mystery Writers Association Prize was one of the best chances for a newcomer to make a name.
While it didn't carry as much domestic prestige as the Edogawa Rampo Prize, internationally, it was a different story—any winning novel was quickly translated, published abroad, and often picked up for adaptations.
Ugh, this guy is so frustrating.
Can't he at least act like he's under a little pressure? The final selection is on April 27th, and here he is leisurely flipping meat on a grill.
At least convert your bank account into gift sets and start doing the rounds already! He's hopeless.
'…Wait a second, why am I the one stressing out over this like some meddling housewife?'
"Eriri, do you want more wings?"
"Two, please!"
'That said… if I could sit here every day, eating food he made with his own hands, maybe I wouldn't even mind never drawing again.'
As long as it's just the two of us. Well, maybe add Momotarou.
Hmm… no, that'd be too quiet.
Sakura can stay too—she makes things lively.
And Shouko… I can't bring myself to kick her out either.
And Naoka she can keep modeling.
As for Kasumigaoka Utaha… lock her in the tool shed and make her write the script nonstop.
And so, the lazy, carefree day came to an end.
————————————————————————
Sunday.
After accompanying Eriri to register for the competition, Kyousuke headed to Entei.
Just like Okudera Miki had said back at the house, Kyousuke rarely invited people to his home—he preferred to meet acquaintances outside.
The second floor of the building, originally intended to be a café, had essentially become a space for hosting close friends.
"Ahh, this is so good. Kyousuke, you bastard, I'm seriously jealous," sighed Osaka Hiromasa, savoring a cup of tea.
"You're being too flippant, Osaka," said Konno Kenzo, shaking his head.
"You've got no right to say that," Osaka retorted. "I heard you've been giving lectures at Tokyo Women's University. Don't think I don't know exactly what your angle is."
"Cough, cough, cough..." Konno covered his mouth and reached for his tea in an attempt to compose himself.
"Stop spouting nonsense. That's part of the association's outreach program. Unlike you, I actually work hard to promote mystery fiction."
Osaka ignored him and raised his cup toward Kyousuke instead.
"But seriously, can't blame me. Hojou-kun, you've got it good. That young lady who just left? She's going to be a real beauty when she grows up."
Yes—under Eriri's relentless insistence, Kyousuke had brought her along to the dinner.
Miki's calm, intellectual charm seemed to overwhelm Eriri a bit; on the way home, she even asked for Miki's contact info to message her more.
Her thought process was a complete mystery.
"Speaking of which," Kyousuke said, smoothly steering the conversation away, "Eriri's entering the Tokyo Youth Art Exhibition."
"If you happen to know anyone on the panel, a little support would be appreciated."
He wasn't about to entertain compliments about Eriri's looks—who knew her better than he did?
Whether it was her refined public persona or her lazy, nerdy side at home, she was utterly adorable.
"How arrogant," Konno said with a teasing grin. "You haven't even handled your own problems and you've already got time to worry about someone else?"
Despite being the association's chairman, Konno didn't see any issue attending a gathering like this.
Not only was he not on the selection committee this year, but even if he were, casual socializing like this was par for the course in literary circles.
Just say it's to 'better understand the nuance of the work' and no one would dare complain.
That was just how the game was played.
"Yeah, Hojou, you don't seem the least bit worried," Osaka added. "I'm out there doing all this lobbying, and you're here living your best high school life. It's maddening."
"Hey now, that's not true," Kyousuke said with a sheepish grin. "I'm stressed as hell on the inside. But I don't know any of the other judges, so I've got no one to talk to."
"All my hopes are riding on you, Osaka-senpai. Tea in place of sake—thanks again."
He was used to playing the junior role around them, and it worked to his advantage.
They treated him as a talented up-and-comer, even if they were all technically just friends.
"Don't flatter me," Osaka grumbled. "The whole jury is made up of people who hate my guts. I don't even know why they made me a judge."
"Let them run the show themselves—I'd rather wait until next year."
He glanced at Konno, who just grinned back at him.
Apparently, they really were close—close enough to talk freely, even in ways that might get them in trouble if overheard.
"It's all about balance," Konno said. "We need someone like you on the panel to keep things unpredictable."
"Otherwise, they'd just alternate picks between cliques every year. Might as well assign awards by spreadsheet."
"Honestly, that sounds efficient," Osaka quipped. "I could even write their acceptance speeches for them."
"No, no, that'd be chaos," Konno replied.
"Appointing you president was clearly our best collective decision, Konno-san~" Osaka said mockingly.
"Oh, shut it. The job doesn't pay, it doesn't get me free publicity for my books, and all I do is get headaches from dealing with you two."
Osaka leaned in again. "If you want, Hojou, Konno here could help set up a meeting with the two social mystery judges—they're the ones most likely to swing their vote."
"The other two are hopeless, full of prejudice. I don't even know why the association picked them."
So there it was—the real reason for today's meet-up.
Osaka looked meaningfully at Konno, and the latter gave him an exasperated shrug.
They had the kind of friendship where even these sensitive topics could be aired freely.
"Hey, hey, why are you acting like I handpicked the entire panel? If I really had that kind of power, the first thing I'd do is make sure you never won an award," Konno muttered, waving his arms.
"Hmm… a personal meeting, huh…" Kyousuke frowned slightly, clearly not thrilled.
'I've been reincarnated and I still have to deal with this crap?'
While he didn't care much about the money, he couldn't deny the boost in status a major award would bring—and that, he wanted badly.
After a moment of thought, he asked, "What if I wrote a socially-driven mystery novel right now? Could that change how they see me?"
Osaka and Konno exchanged stunned glances.
"…Let's say, for the sake of argument, that it's even doable," Osaka said after a beat. "Hojou, you do realize when the final selection is, right?"
"Of course. The 27th of this month."
"So… do you already have a manuscript ready?"
"Nope. If I did, I'd have submitted it already."
"…Sheesh. Hojou-san, the creative power of youth really is something to envy," Konno said, clapping his hands, then added more seriously:
"But the world doesn't work like that. Even if you could produce a brilliant social mystery out of nowhere, they might just see it as a provocation—and you'd risk losing the support of the orthodox faction."
"Hey, don't paint me like some kind of cultist," Osaka cut in. "I don't give a damn about factions."
Although all of Osaka Hiromasa's past works were in the traditional "orthodox mystery" genre, and he was labeled as such within the association, he only wrote them because that's what he was good at.
Having been a science major back in school, he had a natural love for intricate plots and clever tricks.
Kyousuke nodded in understanding.
What he'd just proposed must've come off like a direct slap in the face to those two judges—as if he were saying, "Screw your social critique mysteries.I can write something ten times better in ten days."
"It's not as complicated as you're making it out to be," said Kono Kenzo.
"Truth is, none of the other social school novels nominated this round come close to yours. And your book already has strong elements of social commentary."
"All you really need to do is show some appreciation for the genre when you meet them, say the kind of things they love to hear—"
Before he could finish, Osaka Hiromasa joined in.
The two of them spoke in unison:
"The reason society progresses is because we constantly observe it and critique its flaws."
"Without us, Japan would've collapsed a long time ago."
"Focusing only on murder methods and detective work just encourages copycats."
————————————————————————
Their back-and-forth joking about social school mystery writers filled the room with laughter.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Okudera Miki looked up toward the stairs with a bright, contented smile.
Even though she didn't live at Ruyi Dorm, and even though Kyousuke had less time for her now that he was back in school, she could still feel how much he cared.
In fact, she probably knew more of Kyousuke's friends than any other girl in his life.
Take Eriri for example—today's guest.
It was clear she didn't know the two writers from the association, or anyone from the publishing houses or anime studios.
But whenever Kyousuke had any kind of social engagement, no matter who it involved, he always brought them to see Miki.
In a way, she really was Kyousuke's most publicly recognized "closest woman."
Listening to the lively chatter upstairs, she deliberately slowed her pace, not wanting to interrupt.
Meanwhile, Kyousuke was laughing right along with the two older men, taking mental notes.
Just minutes ago, Osaka claimed he wasn't some die-hard fan of the orthodox school, and now here he was, rambling endlessly about his rivals.
Eventually, the laughter died down.
"Anyway, that's the gist of it," Osaka Hiromasa said.
"Right now, I'm the only vote in your favor. But with some effort, you could probably sway the two social school judges. Three votes would be enough to win."
"Exactly," Kono added. "If you're on board, I'll host a little get-together next week, invite them over and create an opportunity for you."
Of course, everyone knew how this game was played.
Even so, you had to maintain some sense of decorum.
"In that case, I'll graciously accept. Thank you, Kono-san, for your incredible help."
Kyousuke raised his teacup in thanks.
He hadn't expected this much support—Kono wasn't just lending him a hand; he was practically placing the trophy on Hojou's shelf already.
Even if Kono didn't directly advocate for him, just hosting a dinner with him and the two judges would send a powerful message.
Kono waved it off casually. "Like Tendou Saburou once said: When a kendo student encounters someone stronger, the first impulse is to challenge them."
"But soon, they're drawn in, fascinated. I look forward to the day you earn your menkyo kaiden in Hokushin Itto-ryu. When that time comes, take me as your student. Let me experience the secret techniques of your school."
That started off sounding serious, and for a moment Hojou found himself trying to recall which sword saint Tendou Saburou was—until he remembered: he was a character from one of Kono's novels.
Ah. Kono Kenzo really was endearingly full of himself.
"I don't mind taking you as a student," Kyousuke replied with a sigh, "but I'm more worried that if I actually earn the menkyo kaiden, they'll force me to become the next head of the school."
"Hahaha! That's the spirit. Arrogant as ever—truly worthy of the title 'genius.' I even helped Naitou-senpai hype you up back at the dojo."
"A lot of people are eager to see what you can really do."
Hojou groaned internally.
'I've punched enough sandbags at the club—please don't bring more sparring matches to my door.'
Osaka Hiromasa chuckled and gave his friend a light scolding for teasing the younger man so much.
At that moment, Okudera Miki came upstairs with a tray of beautifully arranged traditional sweets.
Just by looks alone, they could rival the best wagashi from any century-old shop.
She checked the atmosphere—seemed like the conversation had naturally wound down—then sat beside Kyousuke.
"Only when I tag along with Hojou-san do I get to eat desserts this delicious," Osaka said with a dramatic sigh.
"Exactly! These off-menu specials hit different," Kono agreed.
Miki covered her mouth with a graceful laugh and thanked them. "Actually, Kyousuke's cooking skills are even better than mine. I ask him for advice all the time."
What had started as a pretense—Miki asking him to "taste test new dishes" just as an excuse to spend time together—had evolved into genuine culinary collaboration.
Whenever he had free time, Kyousuke would come by Yentei, and the two of them would spend the whole day crammed into the kitchen, cooking side-by-side.
It didn't matter how powerful the exhaust fan was—it couldn't clear away the haze of intimacy.
The kitchen felt small when they were together.
Their bodies brushed constantly while rinsing vegetables or reaching for spices.
The heat of the room was nothing compared to the warmth between them, and before long, they'd move upstairs to the balcony to taste what they'd made.
"No way! Hojou can cook like that too?" Kono asked in disbelief.
Was it even possible—or fair—for someone to be this multitalented?
Normally, if you were that handsome, you were expected to just be a pretty, brainless idol.
But this guy? He wrote novels, drew manga, was a kendo ace, and now apparently a culinary genius too?
'Is that how he got such a gorgeous college chef to fall for him?'
"The kind of food that makes you want to swallow your tongue from sheer deliciousness," Miki said with a wink.
"You promised to have us over, didn't you?" Osaka jumped in. "I'll bring the drinks, Kono's on ingredient duty. I've been working so hard pulling strings for your sake—I deserve a proper feast!"
'Tch. With mouths like yours, I wouldn't be surprised if the whole association starts spreading rumors that I'm living with six stunning women…'
"How about we just go out for kaiseki?" Kyousuke tried.
"That's something we can do anytime. If we're going to a ryotei, it has to be in Kyoto! We can even get a couple of lovely girls from Fumiyo's to join us—cough, I mean—anyway, I'm counting on your cooking, Hojou. It's in my notebook now."
He pulled out a small brown notebook and actually jotted it down.
'Fumiyo's? Damn, Osaka-san really is old-school. No wonder you're a literary icon. Nobel Prize, here you come…'
Letting out a sigh, Hojou resigned himself to his fate.
There was no escaping now.
"Alright. I'll find a good time and invite you all over."
"You're making that face again," said Konno with a grin. "Don't look so reluctant. Why don't you and Miss Okudera come over to my place today?"
Okudera Miki couldn't help but laugh, her slender waist swaying slightly, more alluring than the peonies blooming by the window.
Having experienced one of Kyousuke's home gatherings before, she could easily guess what he was thinking.
As eccentric as Japanese literati could be, someone like Kyousuke was still quite the rare breed.
The two older men were tactful enough to leave after just ten minutes, giving the young man and woman their space.
It had been a week since he last saw Miki, and Kyousuke had missed her terribly.
He pulled the curtains shut, plunging the second floor into a soft darkness, save for the faint glow coming from the stairwell.
He pushed a few chairs together to form a makeshift bed and rested his head on her soft, shapely thighs, easing into a blissful nap.
Though he claimed to suffer from light and noise sensitivity when sleeping, the scent of Miki's perfume and the gentle caress of her hand on his face lulled him into peaceful slumber almost instantly.
Looking down at the man lying in her lap, Okudera Miki smiled with quiet satisfaction.
When she first found out that Kyousuke was significantly younger than her, it had been hard to accept.
She had eventually been won over by his sincerity, but there was still some awkwardness in her heart.
And yet, watching him earlier—confidently joking around with the president and core members of the Writers' Association, handling everything with ease—it was hard to believe he was just a first-year high school student.
Not to mention that tall, well-built frame… Really, it only made sense to treat him as someone her age.
Miki gazed at him with tenderness.
Kyousuke eventually woke to the noise from downstairs. He'd been asleep for three whole hours—just in time for dinner.
After giving Miki's numb legs a gentle massage, he decided not to go home and instead joined her in the kitchen to play the role of assistant chef.
The regular chef had been told she could leave early for the day.
They didn't finish until the sun began to set.
Miki locked up the shop and the two headed to a nearby parking lot.
After running the store for a while, she'd bought a car to make shopping trips and errands easier.
"…Sorry, Kyousuke. I didn't know Shizuka-chan would do something like that," she said softly as she drove.
Neither of them had told her about it; she only found out last night when a drunken friend came over for drinks and let it slip.
"It's fine," Kyousuke replied with a shake of his head.
Sensing her unease, he reached over and gently patted her head.
"Isn't this just like what we said back when we first met? That it's fate's arrangement."
"Pfft—" Miki couldn't help bursting into laughter at the memory.
"I actually thought back then, even though you acted so mature, your face looked really young. I figured you were just one of those baby-faced types."
"Well, maybe I really am one of those," Kyousuke said, his tone light and teasing.
The "Return to the Beginning" gift from Mitsuha, even with the disclaimer "final interpretation reserved by the system," already showed its incredible power.
It could restore not only lost limbs, but even youth itself.
In other words, when he decided he'd aged enough, he could reset back to his prime.
"Huh?" Miki blinked at him, puzzled.
"Nothing. You'll understand eventually." Though it couldn't be shared just yet, he was certain this gift wouldn't be his alone forever.
Since it wasn't rush hour, they soon arrived at the gates of the Ruyi Dorm.
"Don't want to come in for a bit?" he asked, seeing Miki still sitting in the driver's seat, unmoving.
"Shizuka-chan probably already at the house, waiting for me," Miki replied. "If I'm late, she'll complain nonstop."
———————————————————————
Daily Uploads!
Unlock bonus chapters by reaching specific milestones with [Power Stone] votes!
Go to p-atreon.com/InsomniaTL to access more than 50 advanced chapters.