Yamada Elf: "Hey! I trust you've already finished worshipping my debut masterpiece, The Dark Fairy of Explosive Flames, right? You've seen the vast gulf between your skill and mine, haven't you?"
Me: "Please, spare me. I don't even know where to start with that thing you wrote. There are so many writing mistakes I lost count! Though, I guess it's not too serious—you're still just an elementary schooler, so it's understandable. But those plots of yours? So full of cliché it hurts! The protagonist goes swimming and 'accidentally' stumbles upon a naked elf beauty? Don't you find that embarrassing? And the main heroine strips three times in the first volume alone! On top of that, there's enough cheap fanservice to make any random reader think you're some creepy basement otaku!"
Yamada Elf: "?????? I admit, some parts might seem vulgar—but isn't that exactly what the readers want?! This is called precise audience targeting! As for the prose, simplicity is a virtue! Convey the feeling, that's all that matters! This is the essence of returning to nature! And don't you dare blaspheme the sanctity of nudity!"
Me: "Right, right. So, total nudity is Yamada-sensei's personal XP, got it?"
Yamada Elf: "Exactly! At least you understand! Also, you're too narrow-minded, Hikigaya. Just because I write light novels like this doesn't mean I'm some weird person. If you met me in real life, you'd know that."
Yamada Elf: "Wait a second—are you trying to dig up my personal info!?"
Me: "You're the one who brought it up."
Yamada Elf: "Hmph! Whatever! But just so you know, I'm super adorable!"
Me: "Yes, yes, the ever-so-cute Miss Yamada."
Hikigaya Hachiman gave his usual perfunctory response—only for Yamada Elf to completely misinterpret his tone.
A moment later, a video call request popped up.
Beep…
Should he answer it? Or hang up?
Well, there wasn't much to think about. It wasn't like he had anything to lose. Still, this would be his first video call in his life, and that alone made his heart stir a little.
He tapped Accept.
The screen lit up—revealing a delicate, childlike face framed by flowing golden hair. Her long, pointed ears gave her a fantastical air, as if an elf had stepped straight out of another world. If not for her slightly smug, defiant expression, she might have looked downright ethereal.
Hachiman blinked in faint disbelief.
"Hehehe~ Hikigaya, are you entranced by my beauty already?" Yamada Elf smirked triumphantly.
"Ahem."
Hachiman coughed twice, trying to mask his awkwardness. "Miss Yamada, you are quite cute, I won't deny that. But I wasn't trying to flatter you."
He figured it was best to clarify before she got the wrong idea.
"Hmph! I don't care what you think. I just wanted to prove how wrong you were."
Yamada Elf crossed her arms proudly.
"And while I'm at it, I wanted to make sure you weren't lying about your age earlier."
She leaned in toward the camera, scrutinizing his face.
"Hmm… average looks, overly serious vibe, dead-fish eyes… but you don't seem that much older than me."
"Miss Yamada, did you start this call just to insult me? Could you at least try not to crush my self-esteem?"
"Oh please, are you really that fragile? I don't buy it."
She gave him a look of utter disdain.
The two often exchanged thoughts on writing, and by now, Yamada Elf had a pretty good grasp of his personality. Calling them "friends" wouldn't be wrong.
"Well then, my objective is complete. Talking any longer would be pointless."
She brushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear, looking satisfied.
"Heading off to run a dungeon again?" Hachiman guessed.
"Mm-hm."
She was about to tap End Call, but paused mid-motion.
"Hey, Hikigaya. Wanna play together?"
"I don't have time. I've got schoolwork and writing to focus on."
He declined politely.
"Ugh, ever heard of work-life balance, idiot!? The most passionate writing comes from a heart that's having fun!"
She clenched her tiny fist, teeth gritting in mock frustration.
"Well, that's subjective. Besides, Miss Yamada probably just wants a material-gathering lackey, right? You did say that game's grindy and resource collection is a pain."
He said it with complete certainty.
"So you did see through it! Hmph, fine then! I didn't want to play with you anyway!"
Yamada Elf stuck out her tongue and made a silly face before ending the call.
Click.
"Writing flows from the soul; inspiration is found by chance," Hachiman muttered to himself.
Though Yamada Elf often seemed like a hedonistic slacker, he had to admit—some of her insights about writing were genuinely sharp.
But unlike her, he didn't have the luxury of leisure.
And truth be told, even Yamada wasn't as carefree as she pretended—most of her "inspiration bursts" came when she was cornered by an imminent deadline.
Time flowed like water. Before he knew it, December had arrived.
"Hikigaya! The Dark Fairy of Explosive Flames, Vol. 2 releases this weekend! Let's go buy it together!"
"I'll pass. You go ahead."
"Eh? Why not?"
"I've got important plans that day."
"…I see."
The scrawny classmate beside his desk looked visibly disappointed.
Some time ago, Hachiman had quietly handed a few copies of Yamada's debut novel to the two otaku enthusiasts in his class—and they loved it.
From his perspective, that novel belonged squarely in the "disposable isekai trash" category.
But for teenage boys? It was irresistible.
They were in puberty, after all. Enough said.
For Hachiman, though, the book had already served its purpose as a friendly gesture. He had no interest in lining up for volume two, so he politely refused and made his escape back home—ever the proud member of the "Go-Home Club."
Yet even in his plain, uneventful days, something extraordinary was about to happen.
Because—
The annual Shinagawa Literary Newcomer Award results were about to be announced.
This time, Hikigaya Hachiman had confidence.
And that confidence had reason behind it.
His serialized Summer Time Reincarnation still wasn't among the most popular entries, but the ratings it did receive were consistently high—proof that its quality was genuine.
More importantly, he had passed the preliminary screening.
He had done everything he could. The rest was up to fate.
He had no regrets.