If it wasn't that, then what was it?
Did Kyousuke somehow scan Utaha's body with his "scanning eyes," instantly measuring the dimensions of her figure, calculating the volume, and then estimating her weight based on average human density?
…No way.
Even though he technically had that ability, Kyousuke had never once used it on Sakura or the others.
At most, he'd lightly use it when meeting Eriri—purely to monitor the healthy growth of a teenage girl from the perspective of a kendo master and offer appropriate advice!
"But... what if the wind blew me onto the roof of a car or something?" Maybe it was the influence of reading a mystery novel, but Utaha had suddenly gotten stubborn.
"When you asked earlier, the wind was coming from the southwest at about 1.5 kilometers per hour."
"Factoring in your... uh, everything, you'd end up landing on the carport in front of the building, slightly to the right."
"If you fell straight down, it would only take about 1.84 seconds. My earlier calculation already factored in you hitting the carport and breaking through."
For some reason, after rattling all that off, Kyousuke had a sudden urge to push his glasses up with his middle finger—only he wasn't wearing glasses.
"Oh, and about the wind speed," he added casually, "Miss Hyacinth on the balcony told me."
Following his gaze to the blue hyacinth swaying gently on the windowsill, Utaha froze, her mouth slightly open, her wine-red eyes full of disbelief.
"...Kyousuke, have you ever done this kind of calculation before?"
"Nope. It's just simple physics."
'Simple?! Not even close!' Utaha silently screamed in her heart.
He had considered the apartment's floor height, her weight, the impact surface area, wind conditions, surrounding buildings... and even gave an answer calculated to the second decimal place.
"So, Kyousuke, you really did model Ishigami after yourself, didn't you?"
Ishigami...
After a brief silence, Kyousuke shook his head.
"I didn't create Ishigami. I just... introduced him to this world."
Hearing that, Utaha—being a writer herself—nodded in quiet understanding, then lowered her head again and returned to reading.
Ishigami, a genius mathematician, had given up his beloved research to care for his ailing parents, forced by society's pressures into becoming a high school math teacher.
Spending his days teaching students who had no interest in mathematics.
On the verge of despair, he found salvation in the form of a newly-moved-in mother and daughter.
When the mother accidentally killed her abusive ex-husband, Ishigami, driven by love, crafted a flawless plan to cover up the crime.
Reaching the end, where the line read "It was as if he was vomiting out his very soul," Utaha sat there, awash in the aftermath of Ishigami's heartbreaking scheme.
The sheer precision of a mathematician's logic—even factoring himself in as an unpredictable element—all because of a love he kept hidden deep within his heart.
The gloomy, self-sacrificing Ishigami reminded her of... herself.
Would she ever be able to go that far for Kyousuke?
"To kill another person just to cover up Yasuko's crime? No one would ever be that foolish!"
Right. No one would. And yet—that's exactly why novels had such power.
Touching the corner of her eye, Utaha was startled to find it damp.
She had always believed her stories were just emotional whirlpools constructed with technical skill, never genuine feeling.
Yet here she was—crying.
Was it... because of him?
She lifted her gaze from the printed manuscript to Kyousuke's face, focused intently on his laptop.
"Utaha, your sequel is amazing. The craftsmanship is even finer than the first one,"
Editor Machida had once praised.
But Utaha knew the truth: purely from a technical standpoint, the sequel's refinement was only about seventy percent of the original.
The so-called "fineness" came from something else.
It came from the "heart" she had poured into it.
In the first volume, she had simply modeled Sayuka after herself, giving the character a fixed personality.
But in the sequel, she became Sayuka and even breathed a soul into the previously tool-like male lead, seeing him as Kyousuke.
Maybe she had become one of those idiots who wrote with genuine emotion, after all.
Maybe that's why she was so deeply moved by the story Kyousuke had woven.
And honestly...
This feeling wasn't so bad.
Softly wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes, Utaha glanced again at the boy who had made her cry, her watery gaze so thick with affection it could drip.
And to think... he still claimed Ishigami wasn't based on himself!
With how Kyousuke loved projecting his own traits onto his characters, Ishigami was basically his alter ego!
Would Kyousuke someday... go that far for her too?
The thought crossed the mind of a girl who had never allowed herself to indulge in such foolish fantasies before.
His hair was cut in the cheapest, simplest way, yet on his face it looked like a luxury style.
That sharply defined jawline made her picture the cold, resolute way he would have helped her cover up a crime.
No—not helping "the neighbor," —helping his wife.
If she ever committed an unforgivable sin... Kyousuke would surely shield her without hesitation.
"If you were Ishigami," she asked before she realized it, "what would you do?"
"Huh?"
Still deep in his writing mode, Kyousuke blinked, then chuckled.
"Wait, you finished reading already?"
"Yeah," Utaha said softly, staring straight at him, waiting for his answer.
Since she had already asked, she wanted to hear his choice properly.
Looking at her—someone who now seemed less like an aloof upperclassman and more like an innocent girl lost in a novel—Kyousuke paused for a moment, then shook his head.
"I couldn't do what Ishigami did."
"...I see. Well, yeah, it's not like idiots like that actually exist."
Her voice stayed cool, but her slender brows furrowed just a little.
"If it were me," Kyousuke said, laughing, "I would've just cut that scumbag's head off the moment he showed up."
"Heh... As expected of the youngest swordmaster of the Heisei era." The frown melted away, and a beautiful smile returned to Utaha's face.
Even if the two of them had to live on the run after that...
She realized she wouldn't mind it at all.
"But, you know," Kyousuke added, grinning, "throwing my whole life away for trash like that feels like a waste."
"I'd chase him off before he could hurt anyone, then come up with the perfect scheme to erase him quietly."
"After that... I'd confess my feelings and live happily ever after with the girl I love."
Kyousuke laid bare the darker parts of himself without hesitation.
He wasn't rejecting Ishigami's choice—he was simply stating what he would do.
"Hahaha~~"
The girl, who just a moment ago had been thinking about where the two of them would live if it ever came to that, froze for a second—and then burst into laughter.
Her body trembled with each laugh, and her generous curves looked like they might spill from her blouse at any moment.
She laughed so hard she actually slid off the sofa.
'Nice! Knew that slipcover I picked would come in handy!'
Now on the carpet, her white silk chiffon dress had ridden up quite a bit from the fall.
'As expected of the man I fell for—he's exactly my type.'
Unbothered by how much skin she was showing under his gaze, she even leaned forward against the couch, arching her back in a way that showed off her elegant waistline.
When she'd gotten the call and heard that Kyousuke had written a novel, her heart had skipped a beat.
Until now, writing novels had been the one thing she could do better than him—the only thing that made her feel superior.
She had even quietly hoped that maybe, just maybe, his talents stopped at manga, and he wouldn't be able to hold his own in the world of literature.
Yes, she was that kind of girl—brooding, stubborn, and a little twisted.
But the moment she read his work, that delusion was shattered.
Not only could he write, he was incredible.
He dove headfirst into the unfamiliar world of mystery fiction and, with such a raw and unrefined style, still managed to create a story that deeply moved even her.
A brilliant deception, heavy with love, and flawless in logic...
Even among all the mystery novels she'd read not just the ones in her personal collection, but across all of Japanese literary history his novel deserved a spot among the greats.
Someone like her, who never cared for public opinion and sat comfortably in her self-made ivory tower, now found herself desperately wanting to peek into this man's heart, to explore that strange and beautiful world within his mind.
He could walk the path of righteousness or hide in the shadows of cunning.
He could show zero reaction to her beauty, yet have no problem expressing his raw desire for it.
'God, he's fascinating.'
With a guy like this, life would never be boring.
"So, Kyousuke-kun, what are you writing now? Another mystery novel?"
As a fellow writer, she knew what it was like to have so many ideas you wanted to write ten books at once.
"Nope. A light novel," he said casually, tilting his laptop so she could see the screen.
"A light novel?" Utaha blinked, clearly stunned.
"Yup."
She couldn't help but laugh again.
'What is with this guy?'
She'd thought he was going to ride that last masterpiece straight into the world of serious literature—but now he was off writing a light novel?
She shuffled over to him from the sofa, squeezing into the tiny cushion next to him.
"You're way too close, senpai."
Kyousuke quickly pulled his hand out from beneath the softness of her curvy figure.
"Eh? I am?" She leaned in anyway. "Come on, focus. I actually know a thing or two about light novels, I can give you some pointers."
Utaha, who had been completely outdone in her pride and joy—novel writing—was now offering her full, wholehearted admiration.
If she couldn't beat him, then she'd help him become the best.
That way, it was only natural for her to remain by his side.
She didn't back off—in fact, she scooted even closer, lifting her hips to nudge him aside.
Kyousuke didn't budge an inch.
'Seriously? You think you can push me around with that tiny bit of force?'
In that moment, all of his senses kicked into high gear.
His sharp mind split its focus—half of it soaking in the rosy fragrance drifting off of Utaha's warm body, the other half listening intently to her critique.
"This may be a game, but it's not just for fun," she read softly from the cover. It instantly piqued her curiosity.
"Yep, definitely a light novel. Just that one line already hooks you in. You've nailed it, Kyousuke."
She gave him a light pat on the shoulder, completely unfazed by their bodies brushing together.
"This is a world that truly exists," he said with a humble smile, "I'm just showing it to everyone else."
"Geez, Kyousuke, you'd be perfect at a press conference." She giggled. "But this time, your new release won't go unnoticed, will it?"
With another casual movement, she shortened the distance between them even more, finally resting her head against the man she adored.
Fresh off the emotional rollercoaster that was The Devotion of Suspect X, she now turned to Sword Art Online, a bold and fantastical light novel.
Even though the premise was outrageous, she could now calmly approach it like a true industry veteran—ready to give Kyousuke constructive feedback on his technique.
Utaha read each word with painstaking care, using the same intensity she had once poured into revising her own debut novel.
She was determined to make Kyousuke's debut perfect.
'Sawamura Spencer Eriri, looks like I've won this round too!'
Just as Kyousuke enjoyed the warmth and softness of her body, Utaha relished the contact as well.
Feeling the strength in his muscles beneath his shirt, she couldn't help but recall his unstoppable presence during the kendo tournament.
Here he was—a man that powerful, now curled up with her on a lazy spring afternoon, writing stories together in a tiny apartment.
The mere thought of it made her cheeks flush with warmth.
'So what if she met him earlier? When it comes to who's helped Kyousuke more—it's clearly me!'
Eventually, the light outside began to fade. Kyousuke glanced at the time and realized it was already dinner.
"Wow, it's late. Just wait a sec, senpai—I'll go make dinner," he said, rising to his feet.
"How about we just go out to eat?" she offered kindly.
As much as she wanted to taste his cooking again, her body was tired, and she didn't want to overwork him.
"No worries! I've got a ton of stamina!" he replied with a grin, swinging open the fridge.
Lately, he'd been eating most of his meals at Miki's izakaya, and even his mom had stopped sending beef, opting instead to have extra portions delivered straight to Miki for him.
The food in his fridge now had been prepared just yesterday—semi-finished dishes Miki made after hearing he'd have a guest.
With a slight pang of guilt, Kyousuke whipped together dinner while Utaha tidied the living room, carefully organizing the scattered manuscript pages.
"Something wrong, Utaha-senpai? You don't like the food?" Kyousuke watched as she picked at her rice, grain by grain.
"No, no." She shook her head.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm just wondering," she said softly, lifting her head, her deep burgundy eyes shimmering with hurt.
"Why do you keep calling me 'senpai'? Are we really that distant?"
"Ah, that's—" He quickly denied it, swearing on those captivating black-stockinged legs tucked beneath her that the two of them had already made a bond that would never break.
"Really?"
Her expression shifted.
With a mix of playful challenge and vulnerability, she crawled over to him on her knees, palms on the floor, eyes locked on his with a mesmerizing glint beneath the soft white light.
"Or… is it that calling me 'senpai' turns you on more?"
Kyousuke could hardly focus on anything else, her slender waist curved in just the right way, the shape of her hips pressing against the back of her skirt, forming a flawless S-line.
Even for him, this scene was far too stimulating.
"Calm down, senpai! I'm not even old enough to get married yet!" Kyousuke blurted out—then instantly realized he'd made a mistake.
Utaha, a second-year high school student, was legally old enough to marry.
'Wait—no, that's not the point!'
"Utaha! Got it! From now on, I'll call you Utaha!"
Nearly knocked over by her firm, ample chest, Kyousuke braced himself with one hand, barely holding himself up as he shouted his surrender.
And so, dinner ended in a rather lively and strange harmony.
Later that evening, on the way back to Utaha's apartment, Kyousuke drove her home on his motorbike.
"Kyousuke, are you planning to publish The Devotion of Suspect X under a pen name, or your real name?" Utaha asked, her voice calm but curious.
Funny enough, Yamauchi Sakura had asked the same thing earlier, right after she burst into tears reading the manuscript.
"I told you not to read it! You're not cut out for mystery novels, dummy,"
Kyousuke sighed, trying to gently pull the manuscript from her hands.
But even while sobbing, Sakura clung to the pages like her life depended on it.
Sitting on her bed, Kyousuke took a soft tissue and gently wiped her tear-stained cheeks.
"It's just a story. I'm not Ishigami, and you're not the neighbor," he said softly.
"But I'm Yukawa-sensei and I love you!!" Sakura suddenly laughed through her tears.
That was just like her—emotions swinging wildly, intense but fleeting.
"It was amazing. But you must ban Shou-chan from reading it!" she declared with a stern face.
"I wasn't going to show it to you either," Kyousuke muttered. "You just barged in out of nowhere."
"What do you mean 'barged in'? This is my house too! I bought the bedsheets and comforter, remember?" Sakura huffed proudly.
"Or wait... did you sneak some other girl in while I was gone?" she teased, putting on a mock scandalized tone and covering her face like a dainty damsel.
"What do you mean sneak in? I openly invited her over to help proofread the novel!" Kyousuke shot back with zero shame.
Sakura stared at him.
"…I see~~" she said, suspiciously.
"Of course!"
The editor-in-chief, Shimomura-san, had kindly introduced Kyousuke to a well-regarded publishing house under Eijisha the moment she heard he was writing a novel.
But as someone who prided himself on independence, Kyousuke had politely refused.
After all, you have to learn to stand on your own.
"Well, fine. But what about the earlier question, will you use a pen name or your real name?" Sakura asked again, brushing it off like nothing had happened.
"Real name, obviously. I wrote this to boost my career," Kyousuke answered bluntly.
Maybe in interviews he'd say things like "I wanted to explore new creative avenues" or "I had something I needed to express," but with the people close to him, he never hid his intentions.
"Career?"
"Yeah. It'll help with my portfolio later, and even my future kid's education."
"…Kids, huh."
Sakura paused.
In The Devotion of Suspect X, Ishigami's love was so intense, it was suffocating—quiet, unwavering, absolute.
And Kyousuke… would he go that far for her?
She didn't ask him directly.
She didn't have to. The moment the question popped into her mind, she already knew the answer.
Kyousuke would never let anything hurt her. Not ever.
That was something she believed in, with absolute certainty.
But realizing that made her heart sink.
She couldn't bear to imagine it—if she were to die, what Kyousuke might do.
With his personality?
He might really dive headfirst into building a time machine.
If she ever got a terminal diagnosis, there was a real chance he'd drop everything—comics, novels, friends and start studying medicine just to save her.
"No one's taking you away from me. No one!"
Yeah… he might even say something crazy like that.
"Sakura? You spaced out."
Kyousuke reached out and ruffled her hair, assuming she was still emotionally tangled in the novel.
"I was thinking about the Nobel Prize."
"…Huh?"
A big question mark formed in Kyousuke's mind.
Sakura, please, stay focused.
Don't forget the original reason you came today—to get help with math work.
Whether she meant it or not, that was the official excuse.
"Think about it. If I win a Nobel Prize, humanity will remember me forever!"
"And then maybe I'll use that to become Prime Minister, and order statues of Lady Sakura to be built all over Japan…" she trailed off, lost in a grand fantasy only she could dream up.
"…Hmm."
Sakura being this serious was a rare sight.
Kyousuke gently stroked her head.
Her silky chestnut hair was full of life—just like her. Even just touching it made him feel better.
"Do you really want that?" he asked.
"What?" Sakura blinked, pulled out of her daydream about statue designs.
"The Nobel Prize," he said again.
Her legs, which had been kicking lazily, stopped mid-air.
She rolled over and stared at Kyousuke with wide, amber eyes full of wonder.
"I always knew you were insanely talented, but I didn't think… you'd actually consider something like that possible."
"It's hard. But if it's really your wish, Sakura… I can try."
If the system cooperated, heck, humanity could be living in space next year.
Just kidding… maybe.
Kyousuke had actually thought about this before having such incredible talent, yet only using it to pass exams, was that really okay?
He'd already won accolades with the kendo skills gifted by Naoka, and the future still held more.
Maybe… using Shouko's gift to win a Nobel Prize wouldn't be such a bad idea.
"…No way. If you did that, you'd spend all your time buried in research and have no time for me." Sakura reached up and gently cupped Kyousuke's face with her hands.
Yeah, forget the Nobel Prize.
Let someone else win it.
Sorry, humanity.