Shiro Sakamaki turned his gaze to Kasumigaoka Utaha, his expression calm but his tone distant.
Their previous encounters hadn't exactly been warm. To be blunt, his impression of her wasn't great.
Just because you're part of the original cast doesn't mean I have to spoil you.
He could tolerate Eriri's sharp tongue—they had grown up together, and he understood her temperament.
But Utaha? She was basically a stranger who had been snarky from the very first meeting. There was no reason for him to be especially kind.
"That... um…"
Seeing Utaha hesitate for so long without saying anything concrete, Shiro's patience began to wear thin. His face showed clear irritation.
"Kasumigaoka-sensei, if there's nothing you want to say, don't waste my time."
Machida Sonoko quickly coughed, trying to defuse the tension. "Teacher Sakamaki, she's still a girl, you know. Maybe be a bit gentler?"
Shiro clicked his tongue and leaned back, considering. True, no point in getting angry with her. Still...
"Fine. If there's something on your mind, say it. We're all acquaintances here, right?"
Utaha took a deep breath, finally summoning the courage to speak.
"I want to be your assistant."
"…Huh?"
Shiro blinked, clearly caught off guard. You were struggling this long just to say that?
"I don't think I need an assistant," he said flatly. "At the pace I write, and with no clear revenue stream yet, hiring someone doesn't make sense."
"No, it's precisely because of that that you need someone to help you," Utaha insisted.
She adjusted her collar, her usual confidence gradually returning now that the hardest part was said.
Sometimes, the scariest step is just opening your mouth. Once done, everything else flows more easily.
On campus, she was admired as a goddess—a genius student, a published author, someone who always seemed untouchable. But lately, everything had felt off. After nearly having her work axed and encountering real-life supernatural chaos, she was left mentally and emotionally drained.
Then came this underclassman—Shiro—who not only wrote an incredible supernatural novel, but also wielded real power.
He was a student at Shuchiin Academy, same as her. After the first monthly exams, she heard whispers that he ranked first in the entire school, far ahead of her in every subject.
If there's one thing I still have over him, it might be…
Shiro raised a brow. "So, what's your reasoning? If it's convincing, I'll consider it."
"Gladly."
Utaha squared her shoulders. "There's no denying your plots are compelling, and your character design is excellent—on those points, I can't compete."
"But—" she said with emphasis, "—you have a fatal weakness."
"Huh?" Shiro's brow furrowed. "Go on."
Utaha stood tall, voice crisp. "It's your writing style."
"I noticed it while reading your manuscript. You try to make the scenes grand, your vocabulary ornate—but the execution is clunky."
"Ahem!" Machida Sonoko coughed loudly from the side, sensing that Utaha's tongue was getting a little too sharp again.
Utaha quickly softened her tone. "What I mean is, you probably haven't been writing in Japanese for very long. The structure, the rhythm, it's a bit off. You use words correctly, but not elegantly. That's where I can help."
Shiro stroked his chin thoughtfully. She wasn't wrong. The rhythm and nuance of his writing weren't always natural, and he knew it. He'd seen reader comments mention it, but he never paid much attention.
He glanced at Machida. "What do you think, Editor Machida?"
"Eh? Me?" Sonoko looked startled.
"I'm asking for your professional opinion," Shiro said gently. "No pressure."
After a brief pause, she nodded. "Alright, then I'll be honest."
"Your writing is immersive, and the worldbuilding is top-notch. That's your strength."
"But as Utaha-sensei said… the prose doesn't always align with the flow that Japanese readers expect. There's room to polish it."
Shiro sighed. "I see. I guess I've been neglecting that part."
Right now, his work was only published online, and physical publication would only happen once it gained enough traction. He'd seen reader comments here and there about the same issue, but he'd been too lazy to dig into it.
Now, though, he had to consider: should he accept Utaha as his assistant?
It wasn't about money—he had enough of that. But this wasn't something to be taken lightly.
Seeing him hesitate, Utaha played her trump card.
"If you're worried about paying me—don't. I'm willing to do it for free."
"…What?" Shiro looked at her in surprise.
"I'm serious," Utaha said, her tone steady. "All I ask is that you let me study your plot structure. I want to learn."
Shiro's expression softened slightly.
To think a prideful genius like her would say that…
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