[That autumn when I was eleven, I… could no longer play the piano.]
[Two years later, one April, a girl named Kaori Miyazono appeared in my world.]
[My name is Kosei Arima, and I am composing music in a piano classroom.]
[Everything started when a baseball hit me; perhaps that was the beginning of my good luck.]
The beginning was very captivating. The prose was crisp and concise, avoiding the common rookie mistakes of rambling about settings or delivering incomprehensible developments. It unfolded the plot simply and directly.
Based on the premise and setting, this seemed to be the same genre of novel as her Koisuru Metronome—romance, healing, and "sweetness." It started with a male lead who couldn't play piano due to trauma, and a female lead who intervened as his savior.
However, as Utaha Kasumigaoka read further, she grew more and more alarmed. Was this really a level of skill a first-time novelist could possess? Could it be some veteran author who had undergone Edo Tensei?
A long while later, Utaha finally finished reading. She slowly lifted her head, her eyes looking into the distance with a bit of a daze, seemingly still immersed in the story. The surroundings were silent, save for the sound of the breeze and the sound of Cao Shuang munching on the bread Utaha had brought.
The silence lasted for a good while, as if time had frozen. Utaha's thoughts gradually pulled away from the world of the book, but her heart remained deeply touched. She sat there perfectly still, like a statue, reflecting on the plot points.
From a reader's perspective, she desperately wanted to keep reading! Why did it have to stop right here?!
But from an author's perspective: powerful! This person's writing was incredibly powerful. It was the kind of level that would definitely pass any submission and likely achieve excellent sales.
There is an unwritten rule in the light novel industry: if a slice-of-life romance becomes a massive hit, the author's skill must be top-tier. This genre tests one's fundamentals too much; unlike the Shonen or Isekai genres, which have rich settings and action plots to lean on, slice-of-life relies entirely on prose and characterization.
In short, this was a masterpiece that Utaha Kasumigaoka no longer felt qualified to critique.
Rubbing her temples, Utaha felt like she might have overplayed her hand in front of him. She had originally planned to act the part of the experienced senior and offer some guidance to this junior. Instead, she had just "slapped her own face to look fat" (acted tough).
"Did you really write this light novel yourself?"
"Why? You don't think it's good?"
"..."
Utaha Kasumigaoka fell silent. No! On the contrary, it was because it was too good that she didn't know what to say for a moment.
"Have you really never submitted anything before?" Utaha could hardly believe it.
"Nope. This is my first time writing a light novel. However, I've already submitted it to Dengeki Bunko, and apparently, it's been nominated for the Grand Prize."
Nominated for the Grand Prize!!!
That pretty much meant that, nine times out of ten, this novel would win. Unless a "dark horse" appeared—but dark horses aren't that easy to come by.
Utaha herself had only won a Newcomer Award, and that was at a medium-sized publisher like Fujimi Fantasia. How could that compare to a giant like Dengeki Bunko?
For a moment, a sense of defeat washed over her. She wasn't as young as him, and her talent wasn't as high. Suddenly, that little spark of pride Utaha had—believing she was far above her peers—vanished completely.
After all, Utaha's starting point in life was higher than most; her novels were published with top-tier results, her family was harmonious, and she was exceptionally beautiful. For the first time, she felt a sense of defeat from someone her own age.
Heh, this feels great!
How about that? Feeling your boy's power yet?
Cao Shuang gloated inwardly. Humility is necessary, of course, but as a young man, being a bit "young and aggressive" is acceptable. You just have to strike the right balance.
Even if the work was from his previous life, the fact that he could transcribe it and recount it perfectly was a skill in itself, right? Like I said—if you can't even manage to copy it well, you should probably just sink into Tokyo Bay.
"Judging by the plot alone, I am indeed inferior."
Or rather, the gap was very, very wide. Don't be fooled by the fact that Utaha's first novel was a minor hit; her second volume was stuck in an incredibly dull writer's block. This had put Utaha in a very anxious state. With the deadline approaching and the second volume still unwritten, she was truly at a loss.
"Not at all, not at all. Technically, I should be calling you 'Senpai'."
Cao Shuang spoke very cordially as he took back his phone.
"Sigh, don't call me 'Senpai.' I've been struggling with writer's block so badly lately that I can't even follow my original train of thought." Utaha gave a self-deprecating smile. Being called Senpai in front of Cao Shuang was embarrassing; if she could even maintain her current level, she'd be lucky.
"Stuck, are you? Do you want me to take a look and give you some thoughts?"
Hearing this, Utaha nodded and pulled up the second volume on her phone for Cao Shuang to see. Getting someone else to critique and offer a perspective was definitely better than working behind closed doors.
"So you're the one who wrote Koisuru Metronome!"
"You've read it?!"
"No."
Utaha was speechless. Then what the hell are you so excited for?!
Utaha's prose was undeniably immersive, but the plot was a bit lackluster—not exactly good, but not bad either; it was just "passable."
As for this second volume... even though it was only a few thousand words, it was clear Utaha was suffering. These words felt like they were being squeezed out like a bout of constipation—and even what did come out was a mess. No wonder she had such a frustrated look on her face.
He read through it very quickly, not nearly as meticulously as Utaha had read his. There was no need; those few thousand words were enough to get the gist.
Cao Shuang rubbed his temples, feeling a bit of a headache.
"Well? How is it?" Utaha asked impatiently.
"I don't want to be too blunt, but Senpai... what you've written is honestly a pile of..."
Cao Shuang didn't finish the sentence, as it would have been highly insulting.
"I haven't read your first volume, but based on the second volume, I can roughly guess the plot structure. First, the plot of the first volume was probably written well, but the progress between the leads was too fast. It's so fast that your second volume has absolutely no subplots or main threads left to push the story forward."
"Simply put, the plot is too bland. If the first volume was candy you could actually eat, the second volume is just plain water. There's no desire to keep reading."
And if he wasn't mistaken, Utaha's second volume in the original story nearly got axed because of poor sales.
"I see. I know the leads progressed too quickly in the first volume, but I didn't have a better solution than that."
Many authors realize after a work is published and they re-read it that there are minor irrationalities or bugs, but once it's out, you can't change it.
"There is a way to fix it. I wonder if Senpai has heard of NT... ahem, I mean, have you heard of 'White Album?"