With his [Academic Ability A] enhancing his mental clarity, Kuroba Akira instantly came up with several convincing pitches to coax the girl into coming home with him.
Start with a dose of motivational nonsense, follow up with an emotional "soul massage," and wrap it up with a flattering triple combo—praise, flattery, worship. Blow enough air into her ego to make her float, and by the time she's dazed and giddy, luring her home would be child's play.
But…
Do I really want to do that?
If this were just a short-term deal, sweet-talking her into joining him with half-truths and embellishments would be the fastest and most efficient route.
But if what he wanted was a long-term investment—a walking, talking paycheck—then trust was everything.
Put simply: he needed to define their dynamic.
If he approached her in a submissive, subordinate role, this black-haired beauty—who was clearly well aware of her own top-tier specs—might never take him seriously.
And if that happened, all his efforts to "cultivate a rich lady" could come to nothing the moment she struck it rich and decided to trade him in for a prettier sugar baby.
He'd end up as the pathetic ex in someone else's success story—a joke. The Clown Prince of Simps.
Akira had zero interest in getting stabbed in the back like that.
So their partnership had to be built on equal footing.
And that meant one thing, above all else:
Sincerity.
Which meant: time to get real.
A proper, logical argument.
"Finished looking?"
Just as Akira made up his mind, the long-haired girl's calm, detached voice broke the silence.
Even though she was only showing her palm, she still felt a strange tinge of shame—so she put on a stoic mask, trying to cover the faint flush of embarrassment.
At the same time, her proficiency in acting ticked upward.
Akira assumed she was getting impatient and quickly responded.
"Yeah, I've got a conclusion. You can put your hand down."
"Then say it."
That almost sounded like a command. She was clearly eager to hear his judgment.
Am I worth your attention or not?
So her pride was the reason she'd cooperated. She knew her value—and Akira confirmed it once again.
"Honestly? With looks like yours, you're bound to make it in showbiz—even without me. I bet you've already been approached by scouts before, right?"
He deliberately downplayed his own role and affirmed her marketability.
"…Yeah."
She nodded softly.
Back then, she'd always ignored those eager-faced talent agents. And now, with the roles reversed, her already fragile pride felt like it was being ground into dust.
All it took was losing the roof called "family," and she had become this weak… this insignificant.
That creeping sense of inferiority scraped another wound across her heart.
And Akira sprinkled a little more salt on top—with a healthy dose of brutal realism.
"Even if you debuted as a total amateur, your face alone would get you through tons of auditions. And if you were willing to… offer your body now and then, I'd bet you'd rise through the ranks pretty fast."
"..."
"So yeah, you definitely have what it takes to become a star."
Of course, the risk in saying that was obvious—if she became too aware of her own worth, she might jack up her… market price.
But that was only something to worry about if she actually agreed to work with him.
Right now, Akira could tell from her dazed expression that she hadn't wrapped her head around the entertainment world yet.
Just a little while ago, she was still a student. Probably a school idol—used to getting stares in the hallway, maybe confessions now and then. But stepping into the real world? Facing the dark underbelly of showbiz?
That was a lot to throw at a girl who was still, deep down, a normal JK.
Which was exactly why she looked so lost when he laid out the path ahead.
She wasn't wondering "Can I be a celebrity?" — she was wondering, "Do I really want to be one?"
Akira saw straight through her and said it aloud:
"But here's the real question—do you even want to go down this path?"
"…I don't know."
"That's what I thought. You're just out of options. And I happened to show up right when you were desperate, so you decided to follow this road for now. Because your face is the most valuable thing you've got left. You've already accepted that, deep down—you believe it's your only meal ticket."
"..."
Maybe… he's right.
She hated her looks. Hated them more than anything. But in the end, she'd still placed her entire worth in that very thing…
She started to hate herself for being so powerless—and unable to change anything about it.
"But if your only goal is to survive, then you don't have to go into showbiz. Like you said—get a part-time job. It'll be hard, but it's doable."
"I…"
Can I endure that? Am I willing to?
She thought she could.
But if she had to live anyway—why not make use of her greatest weapon?
She didn't like her face, but it was a face that others clearly valued.
"And even if you do decide to try for the entertainment industry—have you thought about what your goal is? How far you want to go? What kind of obstacles you'll face? And whether you'll keep going even when it gets hard?"
"..."
"I'm guessing the answer to all of that… is no. You haven't thought it through. Even if I asked you now, you couldn't give me an answer."
"..."
She wasn't trying to stay silent.
She literally had no words. His questions had backed her into a mental corner. She felt embarrassed—ashamed of how naïve she'd been.
This is my future I'm deciding—and I'm treating it like some spur-of-the-moment impulse.
Am I really going to give up on myself that easily?
No—I can't!
But even if I try… where would I go? I don't have anywhere to return to…
"I don't know what you've been through," Akira said, "but I can guess what you're thinking. You're thinking, 'There's nowhere left for me to go.' Am I right?"
"…!"
Bullseye.
The long-haired girl visibly flinched.
How could he know her so well?
Can he read minds?
But Akira just held up his hands and shrugged.
"Don't look at me like that—I'm no psychic. I've just seen plenty of runaways like you before. You're not the only one with family problems."
"..."
He was right…
Every family has its own mess. A happy home is the exception, not the norm.
"This world's full of tragic backstories. You're not the only girl playing the lead in a personal sob story."
That biting sarcasm made her bury her face in her knees again, cheeks hot with shame.
God, I really am so wrapped up in myself… so self-centered.
But Akira wasn't finished.
"And this whole 'nowhere to go' thing? That's just narrow-minded thinking. Seriously, no imagination at all…"
"..."
"What, you think 'home' is something you're born with? Your family didn't fall out of the sky. Your parents built it together. So why do you think the only place you can return to is the one you started in?"
"…Ah…"
She got it.
The long-haired girl slowly lifted her head. There was light in her eyes again—eyes that had, until now, been completely hollow.
"I can build a home of my own. That's what you're trying to tell me… isn't it?"
"Heh."
And just like that—he'd pulled her out of the pit of self-loathing.
No sympathy. No coddling. No pity.
All unnecessary things that only make people weaker.
What she needed was a clear goal.
And a reason to fight back.
"That's right. So don't you want to prove yourself to them? Show your family that even without them, you can thrive? That you don't need their support? That you've carved out your own life, with your own hands? That's what real revenge looks like."
"Nggh…!"
Something lit up inside her.
Her breath hitched, chest rising.
She realized—she didn't have to be the one who was abandoned.
She could become the one who walked away.
A fire flared up in her chest, casting light across a future that had once seemed cold and gray.
"If that's what you want to do…" Akira said, raising a finger toward the sky, "then give me half of your future."
"I'll help you reach the top."
And while you're at it—drag me at least halfway up the mountain too.