"The way of the sword isn't meant to be something so cumbersome. Saitama has forged his entire being into an indestructible blade."
On the TV screen stood Kyousuke, tall and striking in a crisp white shirt and black casual pants, sheathing his sword with effortless grace.
"So cool!" Miyamizu Yotsuba stared, wide-eyed, at the television.
The anime adaptation of a manga she had loved for nearly two years was finally about to air.
She had camped in front of the TV since early morning, eagerly waiting for the special program to begin.
Six months after the disaster in Itomori, the residents had been relocated to temporary housing in Nara.
Eishuu Publishing, a well-known publishing house, not only donated funds but also sent a shipment of books—including their flagship magazine, Weekly Shonen High.
Though Yotsuba herself didn't live in the temporary settlement, during visits with her older sister to help with psychological counseling for the townspeople, she had discovered the manga at a friend's house.
"Yotsuba, time to eat!"
"Got it—!" Yotsuba shouted back enthusiastically to her sister.
"Huh? Who's that?" Miyamizu Mitsuha asked as she walked into the room.
Just before the TV shut off, she thought she caught a glimpse of a familiar face.
"An amazing manga artist!" Yotsuba replied, assuming her sister was finally showing some interest in One Punch Man, and excitedly reached for the remote to turn the TV back on.
"No way. Grandpa and Grandma are already waiting. We need to go eat now!" Mitsuha, hands on her hips, firmly stopped her.
'A manga artist?' Mitsuha thought.
She didn't know anyone like that—probably just imagined it.
———————————————————————
While the anime world buzzed with excitement, Kyousuke, having finished reading over twenty detective novels, had finally begun his "creative work."
In his previous life, he'd avoided Higashino Keigo's novels because of the overwhelming internet hype.
Just like the phrase "I'm sorry for being born human" that had been memed to death—it made casual fans feel uncomfortable and even made true fans embarrassed to say they liked the original.
Still, through a twist of fate, he had eventually picked up Higashino's works.
He had not only read The Devotion of Suspect X but also watched the movie adaptation.
As he recalled it now, the memories came rushing back.
He wasn't like those legendary talents who could flawlessly recreate things without any external aids, but luckily, Higashino Keigo's strength wasn't flashy prose—it was the power of his storytelling itself.
With the boost from his "artistic talent," Kyousuke absorbed writing techniques from the novels he had read, just like how he once praised Utaha: she was someone who had already begun tapping into her innate potential.
Now, he could say the same about himself.
Though he couldn't reproduce everything perfectly, he made sure to capture the key elements: the main plotlines, the emotional arcs, and the core feeling of the story—to the very limits of his current ability.
"Senpai, are you free this weekend? I've tried writing a novel and I was hoping you could take a look at it."
"Huh? You're coming to my place? That's too much trouble. I'll come to your apartment instead."
"Okay, I'll be waiting at home on Saturday then."
After all, with a published writer right at his side, it would be foolish not to seek advice.
Kyousuke wasn't stubborn like that.
'Ding-dong—'
The doorbell rang. Kyousuke paused his furious typing—he was actually drafting a second novel now.
Since he was already asking for feedback, why not double down?
"Coming~" he called out, striding over to the door.
But when he opened it, he froze, stunned by the sight before him.
No, he wasn't dumbstruck by the bustling urban view outside, like Mitsuha had been.
He was stunned by the dazzling girl standing right in front of him.
"What's wrong? Do I look weird today?" Kasumigaoka Utaha asked, feigning innocence as a mischievous glint sparkled in her wine-red eyes.
She clutched a small red handbag, spun lightly on the spot, and let her long, black hair—held back by a white headband—fan out like a perfect arc.
Her delicate collarbones and smooth shoulders were framed beautifully by her off-shoulder dress.
Her fair, flawless skin shimmered more brilliantly in the sunlight than the sequins on her gown.
As she twirled, her light skirt floated up slightly.
She wore her signature black tights, her toes pointed gracefully in white flat shoes, revealing slender ankles and calves tightened just slightly from the movement.
No matter what she was doing, she was breathtaking whether it was her relaxed posture with soft, plump calves lazily draped over a chair, or the toned elegance of her legs when she moved.
Even the glimpse of pale skin through the tights was enough to leave anyone mesmerized.
"You look stunning, as always, Senpai," Kyousuke said without hesitation.
He understood better than anyone how important praise could be, especially for someone like Utaha—someone who, if she didn't care about you, wouldn't spare you even a glance.
For her to dress up so carefully just to see him—there was no way it was just for fun.
"Wow, Kyousuke-kun. You're really becoming a novelist—you're getting smoother with your flattery,"
Utaha laughed softly, obviously pleased as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear with a slender finger.
This girl could be cold and indifferent to those she didn't care about, but with someone she liked, every gesture was effortlessly enchanting.
"Come in! I've prepared rose tea," Kyousuke said, stepping back to make room for her to enter.
Though watching a gorgeous girl like her stand in his hallway and chat was certainly a pleasure, he wasn't so shameless as to keep staring.
As Utaha bent down to remove her shoes, her crimson eyes lifted slightly, catching Kyousuke already backed away respectfully.
Her smile deepened.
Yes, just like always.
She had come to his apartment countless times under the pretense of "discussing work," and no matter how bold she became, he always reacted the same way.
If she leaned in close, he'd politely step back—but if she pushed a little more, he would start enjoying it, even sniffing the air and complimenting the way she smelled.
Heh, Kyousuke was an amusing and contradictory man.
Mature beyond his years, sometimes as composed as a monk, and yet at other times, completely unable to hide his desires.
They moved into the living room, where Utaha naturally settled herself onto a single armchair.
"Here you go," Kyousuke said, handing her a cup of tea.
"Thanks." Because his table was a low one, made for sitting on the carpet, Utaha had to lean forward slightly from the chair to pick up the teacup—unbothered, generously offering a view of her snowy-white skin.
Kyousuke blew gently on his tea, a deep crimson rose bobbing in the cup, and took a sip.
A satisfied smile crossed his face.
Utaha, too, let out a soft sigh of pleasure.
The warm tea, rich with floral fragrance, moistened her lips and sent a gentle shock of flavor across her tongue.
A girl who loved floral teas couldn't have been happier.
"Is this from that Haruta flower tea shop in Kichijoji?" Utaha asked with a hint of surprise, savoring the lingering flavor in her mouth.
"Looks like you really do love that place, huh?" Kyousuke set down his cup—this kind of tea wasn't exactly his thing.
"You remembered just from that one time I mentioned it?" Utaha took another sip, and the subtle taste of honey filled her mouth.
She felt an unexpected warmth spread through her heart.
"Of course. Food and drink are the simplest ways to make someone feel happy. I can't have you drinking only soda and milk every time you visit."
Despite being a novelist who often pulled all-nighters, Utaha didn't like coffee.
"I like that hazy state between dream and reality when you're surrounded by sleepiness," she'd once said with a yawn.
Kyousuke figured that was her way of making sure she could nap properly during class.
Rather than rely on a jolt of caffeine, catching up on sleep seemed more important—and on that front, he completely agreed.
"You're such a considerate person, Kyousuke-kun." Utaha tilted her head slightly. Before Kyousuke could respond, she added,
"Well then, shall I take a look at this new work from EGOIST-sensei?"
Her voice suddenly grew sharp with excitement, and her wine-red eyes flickered with an emotion Kyousuke couldn't quite place.
"No snacks first?" he asked, gesturing toward the ones he'd prepared.
He was, after all, the one asking for feedback here.
"No need. I'm too curious to wait." She crossed her right leg over her left as she sat on the couch.
The tension stretched the black stockings slightly, making the pale skin underneath blend with the fabric into a muted tone that was almost hypnotic.
"Then I won't hold back. Kasumi Utako-sensei, if you would." Kyousuke handed her the manuscript, freshly printed.
"The Devotion of Suspect X?"
Utaha read the bold title on the first page, her brows rising in surprise.
A mystery novel? Not a light novel?
She had assumed that Kyousuke—who had debuted as a manga artist—would try his hand at something more in the ACGN (anime-comics-games-novels) world.
But the title alone suggested something entirely different.
Light novels typically had catchy, fun names to convey their easy-to-read nature.
Like her own Love Metronome—no one would mistake a title like that for serious literary fiction discussing the fate of humanity.
From the title alone, she could already tell this was something else.
"Yes, it's a mystery novel," Kyousuke confirmed, wanting to set the right expectations.
If she read it expecting a hot-blooded battle story, she'd probably be confused.
'A mystery novel...?' Utaha blinked, surprised.
Not only was it not a typical otaku-leaning light novel, but it was also one of the hardest genres to write, requiring precision and logic.
"Well then, I'll dig in." She looked once more at Kyousuke's confident face before turning to the first page.
'Ishigami...' She mentally repeated the protagonist's name.
Mystery authors often used names as little clues or metaphors.
Since Kyousuke was writing his first mystery, there was a good chance he was doing the same.
Her professional instincts fully awakened, she prepared to analyze the story critically.
Gray plastic tarp?
She reached for her phone to take notes.
"Feel free to just use a red pen and write on the manuscript," Kyousuke said, instantly understanding what she was doing.
"Got it." She didn't even look up—she was already absorbed.
Though the grammar and style were still a bit rough, the storytelling was smooth, and the protagonist Ishigami's personality came through vividly.
Seeing her so focused, Kyousuke quietly returned to his own work, right now he was writing Sword Art Online.
He wasn't about to put all his energy into mystery writing and leave the otaku crowd behind. Balance was key.
———————————————————————
"Ishigami Daruma..."
The nickname from The Devotion of Suspect X caught Utaha's attention.
She glanced up at the old TV.
On top of it were several glass Daruma dolls that Kyousuke had made himself—each one looked adorably dopey, not remotely like a serious "Ishigami."
But still... maybe he really was a genius in math.
She looked at Kyousuke, whose fingers were flying across the keyboard like a pianist's.
She remembered that time when she was doing homework at his place.
One math problem had stumped her—despite being a second-year genius in high school.
Kyousuke, just a second-year middle schooler at the time, had glanced at it, casually rattled off the answer, and then offered three different methods to solve it.
So Ishigami was modeled after himself too, huh?
Just like Saitama, except with a sword instead of a punch.
Ishigami, the mathematical genius crushed by reality.
Kyousuke, the mathematical genius living a dream life others envied.
"Kyousuke, if I jumped off your balcony, how long would it take me to hit the ground?"
"1.92 seconds."
Kyousuke answered instantly, still writing.
Then he paused and turned to her, realizing the oddity of the question.
"Why do you ask something like that? Even someone as beautiful as you would hit the ground with 8000 joules of impact energy."
"The result wouldn't be pretty, and not even the best mortician could fix your face afterward."
His brain was clearly still half-stuck in writing mode, his words slightly delayed.
"Heh, of course I'm not really going to jump. I just wanted to know—between you and Ishigami, who's the bigger math genius?"
Free fall physics might be high school-level basics, but the fact that he could do that kind of mental math while writing floored her.
"But Kyousuke... how do you know my weight?"
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She'd never mentioned it.
"Well..."
Kyousuke's gaze shifted slightly—to where her generous hips were pressed deep into the couch cushions.
"I just estimated it based on the dent in the sofa. Might not be exact... probably around fifty kilos."
"Is that so?" Utaha gave her seat a skeptical look.
"Absolutely," Kyousuke replied with a straight face.