"So… giants got so big because they eat people?" Sakura asked, holding a thick copy of Weekly Shonen High in her hands.
Even though Kyousuke had braced himself for all kinds of comments, Sakura's question still caught him off guard. This girl's thought process really was something else.
"Why would you think that?"
Both Shouko and Naoka turned to look at Sakura with the same curious expression as Kyousuke.
"Well," Sakura said seriously, nodding her little head, "isn't there a saying in Japan that goes '爪の垢を煎じて飲む'?"
"Isn't that phrase supposed to mean you should learn from someone admirable?" Kyousuke responded flatly.
The saying literally means "boiling someone's nail gunk into medicine and drinking it," which, weird as it sounds, is a metaphor: even someone's dirt is better than you if they're talented.
It's often used by parents telling lazy kids to learn from their hardworking siblings, or as a humble way of admiring someone impressive.
It's one of those proverbs where context really matters but no matter the context, it definitely shouldn't be used the way Sakura just did.
"And," she added cheerfully, "isn't there another saying too? Something like 'you are what you eat'? Like, if your pancreas has issues, then eating animal pancreas might help?"
Sakura's comment had shaken him to the core, memories flooding back all at once.
"Don't say stuff like that!" Kyousuke suddenly reached over and pulled Sakura into a tight hug from the side of the table, speaking with a rare intensity.
"You have to protect every part of your body!"
"Hahaha! Kyousuke, you're squeezing me too hard—I can't breathe!" Sakura laughed.
She could feel the strength in his arms, like he was trying to fold her into himself.
The tension in his voice made her heart tighten, too.
So she naturally wrapped her arms around him in return, holding this boy who cared more about her than even she realized.
Kyousuke was scared—scared that she might suddenly collapse from something like pancreatic disease.
Sakura, meanwhile, was worried about what would happen to him after she was gone.
What kind of lonely future would he have to face?
"I should've never drawn this manga!"
Hearing him blurt out such a childish complaint made Sakura both touched and amused.
This boy, who was usually as mature as if he'd already been hardened by society, only ever acted this way when it came to people he cared about.
"Okay, okay, I won't say stuff like that anymore. Now let go! Shouko-chan and Naoka haven't said anything yet," she said, gently patting his sweaty back—wait, he was soaked through.
Naoka and Shouko had gone quiet the moment Kyousuke hugged Sakura.
They watched silently, unsure of what was going on.
Sakura's words seemed to hit "play" on their paused minds.
"Kyousuke, you've never cared about fashion, but this outfit is next-level weird."
"Sure, flying through the air with that jetpack was cool, but why is the jacket so short? It looks like a crop top," Naoka remarked casually.
"Uh… maybe they wanted to make short characters look taller?" Kyousuke scratched his head. Like he had any idea.
"Maybe it's for easier movement?" Sakura offered.
"But wouldn't that make it easier to get snagged on branches or something?" Naoka shot back.
No wonder even Korean artists ask Japanese ones to write lyrics—this kind of stubborn creativity is exactly why.
"But Mikasa Ackerman is so cool," Shouko said with a dreamy smile as she watched Mikasa leap out to protect Eren.
"True, Mikasa looks great in that outfit," Naoka admitted, launching into a mini analysis of how the costume could be improved.
Sakura listened intently, clearly enjoying the commentary.
Shouko didn't argue.
Her big brown eyes shimmered with admiration.
What she envied wasn't just the cool character design—it was Mikasa's strength, her ability to protect Eren.
Shouko wanted to be like that, strong enough to protect Kyousuke.
"What's wrong, Shouko?"
Seeing her spacing out, Kyousuke asked gently. He'd never intended for her to read such a violent manga in the first place.
"It's nothing," Shouko said with a sweet smile. "I'm just happy for you, Kyousuke-kun. You've made another amazing story."
"I was worried it'd scare you," Kyousuke admitted, scratching the back of his head, a bit guilty.
"Come on, I'm practically in eighth grade now! I'm not a little kid who needs you to sing me to sleep anymore!" Her puffed-up cheeks were beyond adorable.
Kyousuke could clearly tell how much Shouko liked Mikasa—she never tried to hide her feelings around him.
Just like with that voice acting class.
Even if Yuzuru hadn't mentioned it, Kyousuke would've figured it out from Shouko's small, unintentional reactions.
He thought for a second but decided not to tell her that he planned to cast her as a voice actress when Attack on Titan got an anime adaptation.
After all, the manga had only just begun serialization, and no one knew when an anime might happen. Better to keep it a surprise.
And with that, their little book meeting came to an end.
The first semester of their second year in middle school passed uneventfully.
Kyousuke continued drawing manga and saving up money to buy a big house.
Unlike One Punch Man, where he had no clue how the story would end, he knew Attack on Titan's ending well—very well.
That famously terrible ending had burned itself into his memory, standing out even in Japan's long manga history.
Now that he was the one drawing it, there was no way he'd make readers suffer through that kind of disappointment again.
Even if he chose an ambiguous, open-ended finale, it wouldn't be anything like the original.
But that could wait.
Right now, he was boarding a plane with the kendo team.
This year's National Middle School Kendo Tournament was held in Nara.
The five main team members were the same as last year.
None of the first-years were prodigies strong enough to beat veterans like Goro Hata, who had trained under Kyousuke for over a year.
In the team competition, Kyousuke only had to fight twice to secure victory.
In the individual rounds, the Higashi team swept the top three spots.
Since Kyousuke was in a rush to get home, he didn't waste time—he scored points quickly and gave his opponents no chances to drag things out.
Even when a senior claiming to be from the main line of the Hokushin Itto-ryu school tried to chat after the awards, Kyousuke ignored him and left immediately.
"So strong… she's just like that upperclassman from Tezukayama High," someone murmured as the group left the venue.
"Hmph, just the whining of losers. There's no one in the world who's on par with my big bro," Kisaki Tetta sneered.
The others, Goro Hata and the rest of the team, laughed loudly behind him, bamboo swords slung over their shoulders.
Kyousuke just kept walking, eyes fixed straight ahead.
"Kisaki, do you guys want to come visit my hometown with me?" Kyousuke asked his teammates after the victory celebration.
"Nope, no can do. I promised I'd go with my girlfriend once I get one," Ryouma Mitsuhashi replied with a grin.
"Yeah, I think we'll take our time exploring this ancient city of Nara.," Kisaki Tetta added.
Right, gotta pick up some local specialties before heading home.
If not, his mom would definitely get upset. And he needed to grab a gift for little Kasuko too.
That's right—Kyousuke's family had a new member. She was born over a month ago, while he was still in school.
Eager to get home, Kyousuke didn't waste any time sightseeing.
If Sakura and the others were around, he might've had someone to consult, but now he had to rely on Kisaki's online recommendations.
He hit a few specialty shops for a rapid-fire shopping spree.
Just like with ramen, sushi was bound to be part of any region's must-try list.
Nara's unique sushi was wrapped in persimmon leaves to preserve salted salmon or mackerel.
There were also pickles made using the "Nara-zuke" technique, and of course, the iconic Nara deer.
Kyousuke tearfully packed half a deer's worth—not because he wanted to eat it, but because he thought it might be fun for it to meet its cousin from Hokkaido.
Who knows, maybe they'd strike up some chemistry.
This time, he came prepared—with noise-canceling earplugs.
Sure, he had enough money now to renovate his family's old house with modern insulation and soundproofing, but that felt too much like erasing the lives his grandparents and parents had built.
He flew straight from Nara to Chitose Airport, then took a train back to Otaru.
He hadn't told his family he was coming, he didn't want his mom to drag his dad and baby sister along to the airport to pick him up.
When he rang the doorbell that evening, it was, unsurprisingly, his father Hojou Ichirou who answered.
In their house, Dad was basically the lowest-ranking member.
"Huh? What are you doing back here?" Ichirou asked, ruffling his son's hair instinctively and taking his suitcase.
"Kyousuke's back?" came his mother's voice from the living room—Hojou Mikiko, still full of energy, like she hadn't just had her second child.
"It's me, Mom. I'm home," he called, tossing his bags in the entranceway for his dad to deal with.
Right now, seeing his baby sister was priority one.
He changed into slippers and walked into the living room.
His grandmother Asako and mom were sitting on the couch watching TV, and Grandpa was rocking in his chair nearby.
The volume was turned down low, since little Kasuko was fast asleep.
Oddly enough, even Mikiko's loud voice hadn't woken the baby.
As Kyousuke approached, the tiny, pink-cheeked infant was still fast asleep, eyes tightly shut.
She wasn't even two months old yet, so "cute" was relative but Kyousuke still felt a rush of joy.
He couldn't resist reaching out to touch her tiny hand, curled near her chest.
"Don't be so rough! You'll wake her," his dad warned in a hushed tone, walking over after putting the bags away.
Somehow, even though she'd slept through Mikiko's shouting, Kasuko started squirming when Ichirou whispered.
Kyousuke turned to his dad with a mysterious grin, then, at his mother's gesture, gently reached out and touched her tiny hand.
He had originally planned to spend the whole summer at home, but a week later, he rushed back to Tokyo.
For the deal for One Punch Man's anime adaptation was almost finalized, and he needed to be there to sign the papers.
"Make sure to let me and Kasuko be the first to watch your anime, okay?" Mikiko said at the door, cradling the baby and carefully waving her little hand goodbye.
That won't be necessary—he wanted a cute, soft little sister, not a walking TV critic.
Still smiling, Kyousuke waved goodbye and caught his flight back to Tokyo.
Naturally, for something as big as an anime adaptation, Kyousuke invited Eriri to come along.
For a mangaka, the real payoff of an anime wasn't just royalties or licensing—it was the boost in manga sales and, most of all, the fame.
"Do I look weird like this?" Eriri asked nervously, adjusting her outfit for the fifth time in front of the car.
"You look amazing. Like a princess," Kyousuke said sincerely, meeting her sparkling, gem-like blue eyes.
She wore a sleek, short black dress with a shimmering fabric that caught the light.
Her golden hair was neatly pinned up, revealing a graceful, snow-white neck. Elegant and beautiful.
"Really? That's a relief." Despite having once met the Prime Minister at a formal event, Eriri visibly relaxed more than she had then.
"But... are you finally going through puberty or something?" Kyousuke asked with a playful squint.
"What?" Eriri instantly looked down to check her outfit again, flustered—until she caught the whole sentence.
Her face turned red.
"What do you mean 'finally'?! I've been eating properly, okay? My chest growing is completely natural!" she shouted.
"Pervert! All you ever think about is gross, white gooey stuff!" she added, muttering inappropriate things that would make anyone else blush as she stormed off, her little leather shoes clacking loudly in the garage.
Jeez... Did he think she picked this designer dress just because it looked nice? She wanted it to highlight her best features!
"But you really are beautiful," Kyousuke said as he caught up to her. "I'm starting to look forward to your future."
"Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!" Eriri spun around, ready to attack him with her signature twin tails—only to remember her hair was pinned up today.
She clenched her fists and lunged at him instead.
Wearing a suit at Eriri's insistence, Kyousuke calmly held her back with one hand on her forehead.
No matter how far she reached or how high she kicked, she couldn't touch him.
The two of them looked like a comedy skit, goofing off until a car passed by and they had to break it up.
"So this is the Weekly Shounen High editorial office?" Eriri whispered, looking up at the brown office building.
Every otaku knew the name—but getting inside, especially as a creator, was a rare honor.
"Yup. Hey, Eriri, have you ever thought about starting your own serialized manga?" Kyousuke asked, thinking maybe her sudden nerves were because of the pressure.
"No way! I don't want to be a mangaka constantly chased by deadlines! I'm a free-spirited doujin creator!" she declared proudly, stomping up the steps.
But... aren't you already being chased by deadlines?
The only difference is, it's your mom doing the chasing, not an editor.
As Kyousuke silently grumbled to himself, he followed Eriri into the lobby.
The receptionist didn't even bother to confirm an appointment, she simply gave a polite bow with a warm smile.
"Hey, shouldn't we be checking in at the front desk?" Eriri whispered.
"She probably thinks you're some foreign princess here for a tour," Kyousuke replied casually, though the truth was simpler once someone had seen a face like his, they didn't forget it.
The receptionist already knew he was coming today.
They stepped into the elevator and Kyousuke pressed the button for the third floor to the editorial department.
"You could've done all this by yourself," Eriri muttered as they ascended. "Why'd you drag me along?"
"Let me guess—you're so nervous you can only calm down when I'm around."
"Actually," Kyousuke said, "I was planning to recommend you as a key animator for the anime studio."
"What!?" Her voice shot up an octave. Thankfully, they were alone in the elevator, or someone might've jumped.
"When did I ever say I wanted to be a key animator?" she snapped, eyeing the buttons like she was ready to hit the emergency stop and flee.
"Don't you?" Kyousuke asked, meeting her eyes.
"I…" she faltered.
His serious gaze held hers—dark eyes, calm but unwavering.
Even if she called herself a "free-spirited doujin artist," few would turn down the chance to work as a key animator on a professional anime.
It was a step up—commercial recognition, a bigger audience, and a chance to bring her art to life.
Money aside, this was their project.
A part of her couldn't bear the thought of leaving it entirely in the hands of strangers.
Everyone in the industry had seen what could happen when a great manga got a terrible anime adaptation—perfectly good stories turned to garbage by tone-deaf production committees who didn't understand the original work.
When she first heard One Punch Man was being adapted, she couldn't sleep the entire night—first from excitement, then from anxiety.
Would Saitama still be the same unbeatable, passionless hero?
Would the story stay true to their vision?
Would their creation survive the transition?
Unlike drawing manga, where it was just the two of them bickering and brainstorming over every plot point—usually with Kyousuke being infuriatingly stubborn—once they signed that contract, the direction of the anime would be out of their hands.
Even the director might not know exactly where the story would go.
"Don't worry," Kyousuke said gently. "I'll be the scriptwriter. You'd only be working part-time as a key animator—nothing overwhelming."
"Just think of it as experience. No pressure."
He raised his hand, intending to ruffle her hair—but paused when he noticed her golden locks were elegantly pinned up today.
Eriri saw the hesitation and, amused, took his hand before he could pull away and gently placed it on her head.
"You promised, okay? You're the scriptwriter. If you ditch me halfway, I'll never forgive you."
"Relax," Kyousuke said, smiling. "If it helps, I'll do all the scriptwriting at your place."
He glanced down at her perfectly styled hair and chuckled.
This was Eriri's way of masking her nerves—strong-willed on the outside, soft and uncertain within.
She was brave with a pen, but easily shaken in unfamiliar territory.
"Then it's settled!" she said brightly, her blue eyes sparkling. "We're going to make One Punch Man the best anime of the year!"
"Yeah!"
Anyone familiar with the anime industry knew that it wasn't uncommon for manga authors to join the production committee when their work was adapted.
Directors often told animation supervisors and character designers to stay true to the source material—but rarely, if ever, were original authors invited to do the actual animation work.
Most manga artists lacked the technical skills for animation, and drawing character designs was a whole different beast.
For instance, when Kyousuke and Eriri entered the conference room, a manga might only depict them opening the door—but in an anime, the staff needed to know every detail:
What are they wearing from the back?
What do their shoes look like?
A single hairstyle mistake between scenes could throw everything off.
These were the things the chief animation director had to manage—along with first and second key animators, and a team of in-betweeners.
Studios weren't necessarily thrilled about having "talented" manga artists on board.
That's why Kyousuke only agreed to be the scriptwriter to make sure Eriri's work would be respected and that she wouldn't end up in the soul-crushing cycle of deadline hell she always feared.
After signing the animation contract and their respective part-time roles, a man in a gray suit approached them with a firm handshake.
"Kyousuke-san, please consider BOX Studios for the adaptation of Attack on Titan. I promise you'll see the sincerity of our team after this project."
Kyousuke shook his hand with a polite smile. "No rush—we'll talk about that later."
Of course, his account was about to see a healthy deposit.
Adaptation fees typically ranged from a few hundred thousand yen per episode, depending on the author's fame and popularity.
Kyousuke was at the top of the scale—¥300,000 per episode (pre-tax), though 30% would go to the publisher as co-rights holder.
After taxes and splits, there wouldn't be much left—but both Kyousuke and the publisher were also on the production committee.
He as scriptwriter, they as investors.
Still, the real value of animation wasn't the adaptation fee—it was the explosion in manga and merchandise sales that followed.
"So, are you really going to work with BOX on your next project?" Eriri asked in the car.
She knew him too well by now—his cheery "we'll talk later" smile actually meant "not a chance."
"Nope," Kyousuke said. "Attack on Titan will be either self-produced or done with a studio that actually meets my standards."
He wasn't just writing scripts to secure a paycheck, he was here to learn how to make anime from the inside out.
"Start our own studio!?" Eriri instantly turned to him, her ocean-blue eyes lighting up with delight.
"Yeah—our very own animation studio!" Kyousuke said with a grin.
"Ours?" She repeated the word softly, lowering her head to hide the smile tugging at her lips.
But even from the side, Kyousuke could clearly see the way her mouth curled into a wide grin.
"Will we make games too!?" she asked, hesitating only for a second.
As much as she loved anime, games were her first true gateway into otaku culture.
"Games? Of course! I said it's our studio, didn't I? Whatever you want to make, we'll make it happen!"
"Yeah!" She let out a burst of joy, but as soon as she noticed Kyousuke watching her, she turned away with a pouty huff.
"You just want to squeeze every drop of effort out of this genius, beautiful artist, don't you?"
"Obviously. You're the one who led me into the otaku world, Eriri-sensei. I'll be counting on you from here on out."
"Who wants a stubborn student like you anyway? You still can't draw anything but circles—and you're only slightly useful when I need a model," she said with a smug little smirk, her sharp little fang peeking out playfully.
There's something instinctive about presenting the best version of yourself to someone who matters.
Call it favoritism, or a form of affection—it's a willingness to show your brightest self to someone important.
But sometimes, when that affection grows too intense, the effort can become overwhelming—too polished, too rehearsed.
That's when people start to miss the clumsy, simpler days.
Eriri, however, was clearly on another level when it came to love.
She never bothered hiding her true self. From the start, she let her little moods and quirks run wild in front of the person she cared about.
Because she knew—she was the one being cherished.
With the anime adaptation confirmed, the next phase was obvious: promotion.
The studio would begin drumming up early hype, and the publisher would push out the news to boost manga sales.
After all, One Punch Man was no small title.
In just half a year, it had ranked among the top ten best-selling manga of the year and even claimed the #1 spot in This Manga is Amazing!.
The announcement of its anime adaptation grabbed everyone's attention.
Over the next few days, Kyousuke's inbox exploded with messages, all asking about the anime.
Interview requests flooded in—some even from Weekly Bunshun, his unofficial PR team.
As much as he wanted to give them a nod, he decided against it.
He wasn't a media pro—if he accidentally said something misleading, it could snowball into a PR nightmare.
Even Shouko, Sakura, and the gang from Suimon reached out to congratulate him.
Kyousuke wasn't sure if the girls were saving up for something big or just wanted free cat time, but ever since their last year of junior high, the three of them had been working part-time at a cat café every school break.
Conveniently, Kyousuke was planning a trip back to Suimon anyway, it was a good chance to visit.
He had arranged for a few minor roles in the anime for his friends to voice.
Eriri picked the little girl rescued by Saitama in episode one, her entire line was just a series of sniffles.
Originally, she'd wanted to voice Vaccine Man, but her attempts at a manly voice were a lost cause.
Still, she demanded Kyousuke voice him instead.
His voice didn't exactly scream "villain," but the studio agreed—it made for good marketing.
"Just give it a try, Kyousuke-san! A memorable voice makes the villain more impactful!" said the director with a grin—right before turning to the producer with a wild new pitch:
"Promo idea: 'Most tragic author ever—gets blasted by his own main character in episode one!'"
Voice acting doesn't happen after an anime is done.
It often starts when the animation team finishes rough character sketches and the storyboard is underway.
The seiyuu usually record lines while looking at black-and-white drafts—often messy, full of odd lines and warped perspectives.
It takes serious skill.
Most of the characters Kyousuke assigned were minor roles with only a few lines—except, of course, for the dreaded Mosquito Girl, whose scenes Kyousuke still couldn't bring himself to watch.
...
"Did you know? Shouko's been working part-time to save up for voice acting school," Sakura said.
"Saving? But with Aunt Nishimiya's salary, paying for that school wouldn't be an issue at all." Kyousuke frowned.
They were at his place in Suimon City.
Sakura had taken over most of the couch, leaving Kyousuke perched on the edge, playing the role of her pillow.
"Well~ maybe think a bit harder, Kyousuke," Sakura teased, giving him a sly grin. "If you can't even figure this out, you don't deserve to be surrounded by so many girls."
"She doesn't want to waste Nishimiya-san's money?" he answered without missing a beat. He knew Shouko well.
"Bingo!" Sakura grinned wide.
As frustratingly popular as Kyousuke was, it was hard to find real flaws in him—especially for those who cared about him.
Kyousuke fell silent.
He'd never fully agreed with how Nishimiya Yaeko raised Shouko—strict, demanding, and always pushing her to be independent and strong.
Sure, things had changed a little after his interference, and Shouko now lived a more normal life.
But even so, she was still becoming the version her mother had always envisioned.
Nishimiya could afford everything—both daughters' schooling, Shouko's hearing treatments.
Her hospital salary was more than enough. The 1.2 million yen tuition for voice acting school wasn't a burden.
What worried Shouko wasn't the cost—it was what came after.
Graduating from a voice acting school doesn't guarantee a career.
To become a professional, you need to join an agency—and to get into one, you have to pass competitive auditions at their in-house training programs.
Those aren't like regular schools.
You can't just pay your way in, you need genuine industry-level talent.
And even if you do make it into an agency, that still doesn't mean you'll earn enough to live off voice work alone.
The industry's full of veterans working side jobs at convenience stores just to make ends meet.
For newcomers, it's even harder.
Shouko had already been rejected by an agency once.
Choosing this path meant gambling everything—money, time, dreams—all on something that might never work out.
And when you can't even hear your own voice, how can you know if it moves the people on the other side of the screen?
Call it stubbornness or idealism—either way, for Shouko, it was a path with no guarantee, no fallback.
"But I've already figured out a way for her." Kyousuke spoke quietly.
As long as Shouko could prove her talent through her performance in his work, all the prejudice would disappear.
Her dream could still come true.
And even if one project didn't work, there would be another. And another.
No matter how many it took, he would help Shouko become the most beloved voice actress in all of Japan.
"You're planning to start your own animation studio or a talent agency, aren't you?"
Sakura sat up, her brown hair tumbling loosely behind her.
She wore a simple blue-and-white striped T-shirt, and her amber eyes, usually full of mischief, were now serious.
"Yeah." Kyousuke didn't bother asking how she knew. Just like he understood her, she understood him.
After so many years as childhood friends, their bond was beyond what anyone else could comprehend.
"But I think things might not go quite the way you're imagining." Sakura hugged her knees, sitting cross-legged on the couch and rocking side to side with a playful sway.
'What's this? Has the silly Sakura turned into a wise sage?'
Watching her, hearing her words, Kyousuke was momentarily thrown off.
"I figured you probably didn't see this broadcast, so I recorded it for you." She pulled a USB stick from the back pocket of her shorts and waved it proudly.
Kyousuke took it and walked over to the TV, plugging it in and navigating the menu.
By the time he returned to the couch, the screen had already come to life, showing a segment from their local Suimon City TV station.
The show was the usual—random street interviews with all kinds of people, regardless of age, gender, or profession.
"Hello! Can I ask you a few questions?" said the reporter, dressed in a white tracksuit.
This time, the camera turned toward someone whose entire body was blurred with heavy pixelation.
Kyousuke didn't need to guess—he knew it was Shouko.
The fact that Sakura brought this clip up while talking about Shouko made it obvious.
And with that full-body blur? Yeah, totally her vibe.
On screen, the heavily censored Shouko glanced around nervously, then hesitated before asking,
"Can you blur me out?"
"Of course! Would you like just your face blurred, or your whole body?"
The reporter responded quickly.
They weren't some comedy show—they had the tech to protect interviewees' privacy.
They could even distort the voice if needed, though this girl didn't seem to need that.
"Whole body!" Shouko answered without missing a beat.
———————————————————————
"Shou-chan is just too cute. Does she really think we won't recognize her like this?"
Sakura chuckled.
Shouko's voice had such a unique clarity—even just three words would give her away.
"What a goofball." Kyousuke couldn't help but laugh too.
"I'll leave you to watch the rest on your own. None of us are working today, so Shouko should be at home." Sakura stood up and gave her short-clad backside a playful pat.
"Want to do a barbecue tonight?" Kyousuke didn't try to stop her from leaving—he could tell from the way she brought it up that the next part of the video was important.
Possibly something better watched alone.
"Sure! Just yell from the yard and I'll jump down from the second floor!" She flashed a cheeky grin as she reached the door and gave a little wave before heading out.
"I'm not promising I'll catch you, though," Kyousuke muttered with a sigh, settling back onto the couch and pressing play.
———————————————————————
"Did you just finish work?" the reporter asked.
"Yeah."
———————————————————————
Even though the reporter had already promised full-body censorship, Kyousuke could tell Shouko was still tense.
Being in front of a camera was clearly pushing her limits.
The memory of her walking across the graduation stage like a wind-up robot—adorably stiff—still popped into his head now and then.
"…"
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