After leaving Fujikawa, they returned to the apartment.
Seiji, drenched in sweat, headed straight for the shower.
Utaha sat down on the sofa, absently pulling out her phone. A single unread message blinked at her.
She opened it. It was from her mother.
[Utaha, I need to discuss something with you. Call me.]
The words made her uneasy.
Her eyes flicked toward the bathroom. Water rushed behind the frosted glass, Seiji's silhouette hazy and indistinct.
After a moment's hesitation, Utaha got up, stepped onto the balcony, and dialed her mother's number.
"Beep... beep..."
The call was answered almost instantly.
"Utaha." Her mother's voice was hoarse, heavy with exhaustion.
"Mom, what's wrong? You don't sound well." A chill ran through Utaha's chest.
"I... I'm sorry, Utaha..." Mrs. Kasumigaoka's tone was drenched in guilt. "Today... your aunt and uncle came over."
Utaha's heart skipped.
"What did they say?"
"They..." Her mother struggled for words. "They're afraid something might happen to me. That if I don't make it... the money they lent us will never come back. They want me to pay it back first."
Utaha's breath caught.
Her father's car accident, the hospital bills, the compensation fees, and then her mother's own illness... together they had borrowed so much from relatives. The debt had long since snowballed into something monstrous.
"How much... in total?" she asked, forcing her voice into calm.
There was silence. Then, softly—
"Thirty million yen."
Boom.
The number landed like a mountain, crushing Utaha's chest.
Thirty million.
What kind of figure was that?
For a high school girl, it was a sum that could never be repaid.
Even for a top university graduate, reaching a yearly salary in the tens of millions would take years of climbing—past thirty, if lucky. And that was just the salary.
After daily expenses, even saving three million yen a year would be considered an achievement.
And that was if you were single.
Add a family into the equation, and in twenty years you still wouldn't save thirty million.
"Mom, don't cry," Utaha whispered, biting her lip hard. "It's okay. I'll figure something out about the money."
"But..."
"I'll figure it out!" she cut in firmly. "You just need to focus on getting better. Please, believe in me!"
She forced determination into her tone, trying to steady her mother's heart.
But both of them knew perfectly well—there was no way out.
Before hanging up, Utaha repeated her reassurances again and again, until the call finally ended. She lowered her phone, drained.
That was when a shadow entered the balcony.
Utaha turned.
Seiji Fujiwara leaned lazily against the doorway, fresh from his shower, watching her with a faint smile.
"Thirty million yen?" he said, casually, as if testing the sound of it. He had clearly caught part of the conversation.
Utaha froze.
He heard.
"I can cover it," Seiji said smoothly. "But the terms of our deal would have to change."
Her eyes narrowed, crimson gaze sharpening with suspicion. "Change how?"
He stepped closer, unhurried. With each step, the weight pressing down on her chest grew heavier.
"Be my lover forever," he said with an easy smile.
Utaha's face stayed calm, but her voice was firm. "If I accepted that thirty million, along with the medical bills you already paid... I'd never pay you back in this lifetime."
"Why pay it back?" Seiji arched a brow, amused. He stopped in front of her, towering over her with deliberate ease. "Just be mine forever. Wouldn't that solve everything?"
She shook her head slowly. "I've never once thought about being someone's caged canary."
"Oh?" His lips curved into something playful. "Then what happens with the thirty million?"
Utaha drew in a long breath, meeting his gaze head-on. "I'll write light novels too."
The words left her mouth with trembling courage.
A flicker of apprehension tugged at her heart—would he shut her down?
After all, Seiji's attitude was always so direct, as if he wanted nothing more than to keep her by his side, an ornament to enjoy forever.
But unexpectedly, he didn't refuse.
Instead, his expression shifted into something odd.
You? Writing light novels?
In his mind, the story from Saekano surfaced.
Utaha's debut, Love Metronome. A work so catastrophically bad it barely lasted a moment.
"Fine." He waved his hand magnanimously. "If you want to do it, do it. If you run into trouble, you can ask me."
"I'll even read it when you're done."
"Really?" Utaha looked at him in disbelief. She hadn't expected him to agree so easily.
"Of course." Seiji smirked. Then, deliberately, "But I don't think you'll succeed."
Her face darkened.
I haven't even written it yet, and he's already saying I'll fail?
Who does he think he's looking down on?
I've had plenty of work published in magazines and newspapers before!
A light novel? That's nothing I can't handle!
"Just wait and see." She spun on her heel and stalked toward the study.
Behind her, Seiji only shook his head lightly.
Utaha, you're making the mistake every beginner makes. Commercial writing isn't that simple.
The next few days, she threw herself into madness.
Boxes of coffee became her water.
She poured every last drop of emotion, fantasy, and memory into her words.
She swore she would write a story deeper, finer, and more moving than A Certain Magical Index.
But that was exactly the problem.
Utaha didn't realize that light novels weren't about depth or delicacy of story. They were about pleasing the market.
A week later—
Utaha's entire face glowed with triumph as she stared at the printed draft of her outline and manuscript. Confidence radiated from her like a halo.
"Love Metronome, complete!"
Clutching the stack of papers, she hurried into the living room, brimming with excitement.
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You can read up to chapter 55 on patreon.com/NiaXD.